Come Undone
by scarlet and gold
Summary: After the war, Harry becomes sullen and distant & Hermione is the only one who can seem to get through to him. Then he gets a mysterious new job and disappears for over a year. Hermione refuses to accept he's gone for good and when he turns up again she manages to follow him, only to be pulled into the new and dangerous life that he now leads. (Previously posted on Portkey site )
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:This story was posted on Portkey (.org) but it seems that may be gone now so am going to post it again here over the next few days.

This story is a bit angsty and dark and Harry is a bit of a badass in this. So if you like your Harry with milk and sugar, this is probably not for you. Also, although I don't personally feel the characters are OOC (I look at it more as natural evolution of the characters as adults), some of you might.

Warnings: If you have an extreme aversion to: swearing, tattoos, use of alcohol, cigarettes, illegal drugs, handguns, mentions of R/Hr, likeable! Ron, not-so-likeable! Ginny, or the nickname 'Mione...you might wanna move along. Nothin to see here. (No NC17 smut either, just assumed)

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction. You know the drill; characters aren't mine and all that. The song lyrics I use occasionally throughout belong to other people with genius far over shadowing mine as well. Sigh.

Set post Deathly Hallows, minus the Epilogue.

Finally, this story is finished - 11 chapters in total. Daily updates or thereabouts I think. I really enjoyed writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it x

* * *

Come Undone

* * *

 _Who do you need_

 _Who do you love_

 _When you come undone._

* * *

 _Harry Potter doesn't use magic anymore._

 _I don't even know if he still has his wand. But he, The Boy Who Lived, never utters a spell or a hex or even a simple charm. I know this for certain._

 _Instead he lives this sort of half life. Immersed in the Muggle world, cut off from any kind of magical reality. I'm the only one of us he sees anymore. And even that tenuous link does little more than scare me with its fragility as I feel him slipping through my fingers more every time._

 _And I still berate myself that I didn't see it coming._

* * *

When the war is over, it is a strange time. A bittersweet moment of stillness where no one really knows what to do or say next, how to get on with normal life, or in fact what normal even is now.

We are all a bit lost and even I scare myself – mainly with my strong urge _not_ to go immediately back to school. Nothing about the idea appeals to me and I think I really know then how much I've changed.

Ron hasn't changed at all. At first I thought he might've, what with Fred's death. But he comes out the other side of his grief as much himself as he's always been, cheerful and witty though still quick tempered, but if anything he is just a little more confident. I find the new confidence attractive, for a time.

Ginny carries on in typical gutsy fashion. She is devastated at losing Fred but she's always been strong and tenacious. That's why I think she will be the one to get through to Harry.

He seems okay, for the longest time. For the whole year following in fact, he seems like the Harry I know so well, taking all the horrors and sadness in his characteristically strong way, not overly emotional through all the funerals and the recounting of the wars' worst stories.

But it is in the joyous, celebratory moments that I see the slight fraying of his nerves, a small reaction that I don't realise at the time, is the beginning of his unravelling.

In the ceremony for the first of many monuments unveiled in the months after, I notice him fidgeting on the stage behind the podium. It isn't unusual in itself that he would be uncomfortable in a situation where he is the centre of attention. But I sense the desperation coming off him in waves, his frown deepening behind his glasses.

I'm sitting just down from him in the row behind, my hands crossed in my lap as I try to focus on Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice, talking about unity and optimism. But my eyes kept darting to him, trying to detect...is he... _shaking_? I reach across Bill Weasley to my right and place my hand on Harry's shoulder. A few people notice my movement and turn to watch but I couldn't have cared less about them.

He turns to me and I nearly gasp. The look in his eyes shocks me to my core; a blatant mix of resentment, anger and bitterness that I'd never seen in him before. There is no hope, none of the usual nobility. His eyes are the darkest shade of green I'd ever seen them. I don't recognise him.

Then in the next second it is gone, replaced with a generic smile and nod, his fingers finding mine and squeezing them. I continue to stare at him open mouthed but he turns back to Kingsley now, his face relaxed again.

I should have known then, that something was wrong.

* * *

 _He's soft to the touch_

 _But frayed at the ends he breaks._

* * *

But still I don't say anything. Then I find out over the next few weeks that Ginny is struggling, with Harry, but she never talks to me about them. She tries to talk to Ron, who in turn blabs to me, but I know Ron can't offer her any advice because Harry is very slowly but surely, shutting off to him too.

Then Ron and Harry have a falling out that I'm not witness to – I only see Ron in his rage afterward, stamping around The Burrow in a petulant sulk, and refusing to give me details, only telling me they'd had words and if I want to know what happened, ask bloody Harry because he has no idea what he said wrong.

I don't though. I don't know what I'm waiting for until after a week of none of us hearing from Harry, Arthur Weasley tries.

He goes to visit him at Grimmauld Place where Harry is living with just Kreacher for company. Arthur reports back to a distressed Molly and Ginny that Harry doesn't want to talk to anyone. I can tell from the look in Arthur's eyes that his manner had been more vicious than Arthur chooses to pass on.

So I know then it is down to me. I don't want to do it, because I'm not sure I can get through to him – and just what it might do to me if I can't. But I know I owe it to everyone somehow, to try. I don't tell Ron though, or Ginny. I just go there one night after one of my Healers training lectures.

Kreacher lets me in. He is cordial, but his usually crisp white towel is a grubbier brown, and somehow this is what instantly worries me. He leads me through the hall and up the stairs, into a darkened room. As my eyes adjust, the musty smell of it transports me instantly back to a moment years ago and it rocks me; remembering this room was where Buckbeak was once kept, and where I'd last tried to break through to Harry in one of his dark moods.

I'd succeeded that time. But when I catch a glimpse of him slumped in the corner, chest and feet bare with just faded jeans on, I feel cold nerves gather in the pit of my stomach.

I walk slowly over and notice he is playing with something in his fingers. The silver glint of it catches the tiny amount of light in the room from the doorway and at first I think it is Ron's Deluminator. Then as I get closer I see it's a muggle Zippo lighter. He is flicking it open and lighting it, then snapping it shut, over and over, methodically.

He doesn't move or show any sign that he knows I'm there as I kneel gingerly at his side. I study him discreetly, realising at that moment that my friend is a man now; just noting how the once stringy arms and flat chest of adolescence have given way to the ropey, fuller muscles of adulthood. I watch the repetitive action of his fingers as he continues his motions, and I can see out of the corner of my eye he is stubbornly watching the flame flicker alight and die, steadfastly ignoring my presence.

Finally he snaps it shut one last time and we sit in darkness for a while.

"I knew you'd be next." His voice is croaky like he hasn't spoken yet that day, even though it's two in the afternoon.

He smiles but there is no warmth in it.

"The last ditch effort."

I frown at the bitter note in his voice and then I notice the bottle to his side and at the same time catch the smell of Firewhisky coming from him. I sigh.

"What's going on Harry? Why are you doing this?"

He stays silent for a while, taking a drink directly from the bottle in the meantime. He motions with it at me, apparently offering me some as his eyes squint against the harsh taste in his throat. I shake my head and lick my lips, trying to prepare what I was going to say.

"Just save your breath Hermione. I just want to be alone."

I tilt my head, frowning.

"And what do we do? Just stop caring about you?"

He laughs sharply, a humourless bark that reminds me of Sirius.

"You don't even know me. None of them ever really knew me."

I reach across and grab the bottle before he goes to take another sip. I put my face close to his and meet his glare. He is looking back at me, no fight in his eyes - they're just blearily bemused. His gaze drifts down to my lips which makes the nerves coil slowly in my stomach for some reason.

"I know you. I know this isn't you."

His mouth twists.

"Yeah you know me alright. You know me better than anyone Hermione Jane."

His words are dripping with sarcasm and I stare at him, confused, trying to read his eyes that are that unsettling dark green again. Then his face changes to a mask and he looks away.

"Why don't all of you" –he swipes the bottle back out of my hands quicker than I would have given his reflexes credit for and then points directly at me-"Why don't YOU, just fuck off."

I catch myself before I flinch. He is watching me closely, grimly satisfied.

I don't respond for a bit, then I yank the bottle back off him.

"It'll take more than a 'fuck off' to make me give up on you." For some mad reason, I take a swig from the bottle too, trying and failing not to grimace. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. " _Harry James._ "

His eyes are still steely but his mouth twitches and he laughs, the tiniest trace of humour in it this time. He turns back to his lighter and starts flicking it again.

"Whatever. Whatever you say."

I stand up and leave him then, checking in with Kreacher in the kitchen. After supervising the making of dinner (much to the house elf's disgust), I traipse back up the stairs and chuck a t shirt at Harry, still in the same position in the corner.

"Dinner."

I turn and walk out without looking back, but I don't hear him move an inch. Fifteen minutes later I'm thinking I've failed when the kitchen door swings open and he pads over to the other place setting, scraping the chair back with a kick of his still bare foot.

I don't look at him and kept eating. We eat in silence and I glance up halfway through. In the light of the kitchen he looks even more terrible, his hair sticking up at odd angles and the growth of stubble on his face the longest I've seen it, even on the Horcrux hunt. He doesn't meet my eyes and I've finished so I take my plate to the sink, and set about washing the dishes without magic for some reason.

I don't hear him get up so his voice in my ear makes me jump.

"That's not a victory. I was just hungry."

I stay still as he reaches around me and dumps his empty plate in the warm water that my hands are soaking in. I fancy that it's my imagination that he presses against me slightly, his nose and breath brushing my ear, and sending a jolt shooting through my side and down my leg. But I dismiss that, and everything else – ridiculously happy that he's eaten. I don't care what he says; I know it's a victory, if a small one.

The next night is much the same. I tell Ron I'm staying at my parents and he grumbles as usual. But the Burrow is uncomfortable for me right now anyway. I've never become used to staying in Ron's room with him, and Ginny's moping is driving me a little crazy if I'm honest. The darkness and silence of Grimmauld is almost a relief.

He barely says two words to me. But he calls me Hermione Jane again. And again the next night, so when I call him to dinner, I call him Harry James too.

That night I stay. I've been apparating to Mum and Dad's after dinner but I don't want to tonight. I set up the room that I'd stayed in when it had been Order headquarters. The nostalgia is nice and unbearably sad at the same time; in that room I can picture Tonks and her vivid hair a little too sharply for my liking.

In the morning, to my delight, he is in the kitchen already when I come down for breakfast. He has shaved and I think he's even run a comb through his hair, though with Harry you can never really tell. He doesn't look up from his cereal when I come in but I'm just happy with his appearance at all.

Halfway through breakfast, he says something that surprises me.

"Ron know you're here?"

I look up and he is studying me hard, and it makes me suddenly self conscious. I watch him carefully for a moment then decide to be honest and shake my head.

"No."

"Hmm." He nods and goes back to his cereal. "You shouldn't be here then."

I frown and feel my heckles rising. "I'll decide where I can and can't be, thanks."

He snorts lightly but doesn't respond otherwise. I'm slightly disgruntled then I notice he is dressed rather nicely in a collared shirt and pants.

"Going somewhere?"

He pushes his chair back loudly and takes his plate to the sink. Kreacher takes it off him and shoos him away while he sets about the dishes.

When Harry turns back, he rakes his hand through his hair and smiles slightly, and for the briefest moment I see the Harry I knew. Then just as quickly the grim mask is back, but at least he answers.

"Job interview." My eyes must've lit up because his face is amused as he crosses his arms. "Happy, Hermione Jane?"

I don't hold back my enthusiasm.

"Very. Very, Harry James."

I should've known then, somehow, that it was all about to go downhill.

The next time I see him is over two weeks later. I call in often over the next few days and talk with Kreacher but he has no idea where Harry is.

I take to dropping in to Grimmauld Place as part of my daily routine. I don't know why because I've told Kreacher to alert me as soon as Harry gets back and I actually believe he will. But an anxiety is gnawing at my gut and I've found it can only be soothed by being at the most Noble House of Black.

Ron knows something is up with me. He's getting irritated that I won't stay at the Burrow anymore, that we've only had the occasional dinner lately. And I know it's wrong but part of me wants to test him in some way, to be a bit unobtainable and see how he handles it for a while. I recall the way I felt when he left us on the Horcrux hunt and I know it's a little childish but I take some sort of sick satisfaction from his pining for me now.

My training is going well; I'm enjoying study again. I think if I could just find Harry, everything would be right.

I ask for Kreacher's help to levitate a large couch into the kitchen in front of the fireplace and he does so without grumbling. I think he spends a bit of time waiting there too, for the familiar popping sound that will signal Harry flooing home.

As it happens, when he finally turns up he doesn't come through the fireplace. In fact, I'm not sure where he comes from because I'm asleep, dozing on the couch after two glasses of red wine and too much staring into the golden flames.

He touches my arm and I jolt awake, focusing slowly on his face. I'm wide awake in a second once I do, and reach out to grab his arm instantly, as if to check he's real. He smiles at that, and then sits on the arm rest of the couch.

It's then that I notice his hair.

It is short, shorter than I've ever seen it, cropped close to his scalp. It makes his eyes stand out more if that's possible.

"Harry...your hair!"

He runs a hand through it like he usually does but there is no messy length for his fingers to get stuck in and he just ends up rubbing his head. He doesn't speak though.

I can't stop staring at him, my instant relief that he's finally there giving way to a million questions all trying to get out of me at once.

Instead I find I can only gape at him, at his scar, stark on his forehead now that no hair covers it, his dark t-shirt exposing arms that are slightly tanned. His jeans are dark also, and he wears boots, black boots that look sort of army issue. And, I realise with a jolt, he's not wearing glasses.

He rubs his face and I get then that he is uncomfortable under my scrutiny.

"How...How are you?" I stammer.

He grins, and I realise for the first time that his haircut suits him.

"Hungry."

Kreacher cracks into the room abruptly, giving me the fright of my life, and goes about quickly arranging some supper. I look at the clock – it's 1am.

Harry sits on the couch and eats and those questions bubble up in me again. I try to order them but his physical presence is distracting me, he looks and seems so _different._ He even smells different; I catch a hint of cigarette smoke on him.

I stare at the fire again, and finally settle on something to say.

"I've been worried about you." I clear my throat. "We've been worried."

He makes a grunt and shrugs his shoulders, finishing his mouthful.

"You don't need to. I'm fine."

He seems relaxed, so I ask him.

"Where've you been?"

He glances at me then grabs a long drink of beer that Kreacher has provided. He answers looking into the fire.

"I got that job."

I feel my eyes widen.

"That's great!" He doesn't react and I prod him. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah" he says, looking at his plate.

He remains silent. I raise my eyebrows.

"So..?"

"So...what?"

"So what is it?"

He stands up and takes his empty plate to his sink.

"It's just some contract stuff. I'm not really sure yet." He comes back to sit next to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. Some of his old warmth is in his eyes. "But how's your training going?"

I know he is trying to change the subject but I'm so happy he seems better that I play along. "It's great actually. I'm really enjoying it."

He smiles; a genuine one. "That's great. You'll be really good at it."

There is some strange sadness in his tone that scares me, and I shift closer to him instinctively.

Had I known that it would be the last time I'd see him for almost a year, would I have said something more? Would I have asked him, begged him to tell me what he was doing, where he'd really been?

I don't know, but when he puts his arm around me and draws me against him, the two of us sipping our drinks and staring at the fire in warm companionship, I'm shamefully pleased and so giddy, that I don't say anything. In fact I fall asleep again, nestled into his shoulder. I think I feel him kiss the top of my head but that might've been a dream because when I wake, it is morning, the fire is low and I'm cold.

And he is gone.

Lyrics credit(in order); Come Undone by Duran Duran, Beautiful Disaster by Kelly Clarkson.


	2. Chapter 2

Come Undone Chapter Two

* * *

 _Like the deserts miss the rain._

* * *

At first I think he'll just turn up in a week or two like last time. I relax a little, knowing he'll be back and Kreacher will let me know.

But after three weeks I start to get uneasy again. I wish I hadn't been so eager to just sit in his company; I berate myself for not getting a number of his new job or _something_ to lead me to him.

The Weasley's are all at a loss. Ron even forgets to be mad and starts to genuinely worry, so I tell them a little about the last time I saw him. It's slightly edited, particularly because Ginny is scowling at me openly when I'm telling them all. I guess it's because I've kept my visits to him secret and I understand that really because I don't know why I did either. Arthur uses his contacts at the Ministry to try and track him down discretely, but to no avail. There's only so much he can do without launching a full scale man hunt. We don't want the news to get out and cause panic when he could just want to be by himself.

I'm completely frustrated and I hate not knowing what to do next. For something to do, I buy an owl. She is a beautiful snowy white thing, very similar to Hedwig – and that's one reason why I buy her if I'm truthful. That and because the owner at Eeylops Emporium tells me she's exceptionally good at finding people – and persistent.

I take her back to Grimmauld and kept her around Harry's room, let her sniff and peck at his clothes that are all still in his drawers and closet, or strewn on the floor before I tidy them away. Kreacher gives her some owl treats and they instantly take a shine to each other, so I tell him he can name her. It was an impulsive but ultimately smart move on my behalf because Kreacher from that day forward seems to transfer all his helpfulness to me in Harry's absence. He names her Capella and completely dotes on her.

But she has no luck in finding Harry.

Every letter I give her she brings back three, sometimes four days later. She's always worn out and grubby looking, I know looking into her huge yellow eyes that she has really tried. She even comes back with a wound on her wing the last time, much to Kreacher's distress. She nudges me apologetically every time I come around and I give her a treat, happy anyway that she is keeping Kreacher company.

But we just can't track him. Then just before Arthur is going to launch a missing wizards report with the Ministry, a note turns up on the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. It's only twelve words long.

 _I'm okay. Don't worry about me, and don't look for me._

 _Harry._

We all take it differently, from Ron who is furious and proceeds to pretend Harry never existed, to Ginny who is devastated but maintains a stony silence, to Luna who just smiles and seems to accept this as a perfectly sound and rational explanation. Her attitude is that a wizard who doesn't want to be found, won't be found. Until he's ready.

Surprisingly I'm not mad. It just drives me crazy that I can't figure this out. And more so that I can't really discuss it with Ron for long; he always ends up getting frustrated and angry with me about it, telling me to give up and that Harry doesn't want to be around us anymore and we should just accept that. I know I'll never accept such a thing but I don't press him more. I know he's really upset by it all, not just for himself but for his family, and specifically, Ginny.

She's gotten terribly skinny. Her cheeks are sunken hollow and her hair lacks its usual shine. I notice she still looks up expectedly every time someone appears at the Burrow, hoping to see Harry I know. But she never talks to me about it. Though sometimes I see her staring at me strangely, and I know she wants to ask me something – something about Harry I feel sure – but she doesn't. I volunteer one night that I really haven't heard anything; that I've tried everything I know to track him down. This just seems to irritate her so I never try again.

But I'm spending less time at the Burrow anyway as things with Ron and I are most certainly falling apart.

I don't know if you can call what we had a relationship. I used to think I was quite perceptive about things like that, but when it comes to my own situation I guess I lose perspective. I used to enjoy our banter but now it just makes me tired. And he is incredibly demanding, so much so that I find myself avoiding him. He needs constant reassurance and I don't have the time or patience for that, what with my study and with my quest to find Harry. He doesn't know how much effort or thought I'm putting into that though, so it's fair I suppose that he feels he doesn't get enough of my time.

But I know for certain I need space now. In quiet moments, when I sit and read or just lie on my bed, I begin to feel a sadness creeping over me the likes of which I've never experienced. It's washing through me and changing me, I can feel it. And if I don't figure it out, I'm scared it's going to overwhelm me.

So that's why, with the help of my parents, I get a place of my own.

And that is the first time that Ron and I break up.

My house is beautiful.

It's tiny, a one bedroom terrace house, attached to a row of identical houses with tiny front gardens and a small courtyard in back but the street is lovely and quiet and it's warm and private.

My favourite part about it is the small sun room backing onto the courtyard; my first purchase is a soft and inviting couch for the sunniest part of that room – the ideal place to read. Crookshanks thinks it's the ideal place to sleep though, so I can see I might have competition for that prime spot.

I buy a huge bed with a beautiful brass headboard, and I love that I have it all to myself. Ron grumbles about why I need such a big bed with no one to share it but I just ignore him. He agreed to help me shift; we've still managed to stay friends which makes me happy and hugely relieved.

My last purchase for the house is a couch for the lounge room. It's incredibly long and wide, and as I have no spare room, I think of it as my spare bed. I sit on it the first night and realise then that I got it for one person in particular. If he ever comes back, I got it for Harry.

It is a strange revelation, and maybe that's why I dream of him that night.

He is just there, in my new kitchen with me, talking, laughing. Then we walk out to my courtyard and there's a huge tent there – like the one we took on our Horcrux hunt but bigger. He looks down at me and the green of his eyes is so vivid; it is the thing I remember most about the dream. When he grabs my hand it's incredibly warm, then he squeezes mine and we walk forward into the tent, and then I wake up.

The sadness is heavy on me that following morning.

Weeks roll by and there is no word from him. I've contacted absolutely all of our old school friends, Neville, Dean, Seamus, everyone I can think of. None of them have heard from him. Then the Daily Prophet picks up on it.

I almost spill my tea when I see the headline one morning.

'The Boy Who Lived...Vanished.'

There is a photo of me, Harry and Ron at one of the monument unveilings. Ron is waving cheerily out of the photo, his arm around me. I'm smiling weakly and I keep looking up to Harry next to me. He's holding my hand, smiling but it is a hollow smile, I see that now. Every now and then he looks down at his feet or up into the sky, as if he'd like to take off right then.

His hair in the picture is so different from the last time I saw him. For the thousandth time, I run over our last conversation, trying to think of clues. Army boots. No glasses. Tanned arms. Nothing made sense.

I read the article but it's just rubbish, all speculation by some young journalist who'd noticed a few things Harry didn't attend and started snooping around the Weasley's. No one gave comment of course, but then Percy accidentally let slip that they hadn't seen him for months.

So as expected I get a floo later that day from The Prophet and I just put the fireguard up to block my calls. They try to badger all of us for the next two weeks. I call in to Kreacher and he's most unhappy about the floos and owls, he's taken to blanketing the house in an Anti Detection Charm.

The story dies down after a while because absolutely no one knows anything, there is nothing to tell.

And my dreams of Harry keep happening.

Sometimes he's just there in the background of a normal uninteresting dream. Sometimes he is just out of reach or I'm trying to find him and he keeps alluding me – those dreams are frustrating.

And in some dreams, he has the starring role. It's when I start having _those_ dreams that I stop trying so hard to find him.

I've never had a sex dream about him before. But these dreams are so vivid; I can _feel_ him – the hard lines of his body, the roughness of this cheek. I can smell him, taste him, when I wake up it feels like he is still all through me. I rationalise that it's just a symptom of missing him but the grief I feel about it turns into a cold ache that's always there in my stomach, every day. I feel on the verge of tears at the most inappropriate of times and it's all because of this.

So I finally get angry. How dare he just take off like this? Not leave us anything, any idea where he is. After everything we've done for him. After all _I've_ done for him. I am insulted now, and try to push him from my mind.

It's probably why I take up with Ron again.

I know it's a mistake from the beginning but he is persistent and I just don't have the energy to argue with him anymore. Besides, he's right; I have no real reason why we split up. I do like going to the Burrow again. Molly makes me feel so welcome and I love talking with George, and Arthur.

I never like Ron staying at my house though. But I put up with it, always on edge until he leaves. He doesn't seem to notice.

One morning, after I've ushered him out, I figure it out. It's because deep down, I still think Harry might turn up. Still. And if Ron is there well, Harry might not stay.

I could scream with frustration. I hate not knowing the answers, I hate that he could be hurt or in danger and I have no way of knowing.

It is gnawing at me worse every day and I start arguing with Ron again. We've been giving each other the silent treatment for days when it finally happens.

Harry comes back.

* * *

 _Lights will guide you home_

 _And ignite your bones_

 _And I will try and fix you_

* * *

It's late at night and I'm still on the chair in the sunroom in my pyjamas, my feet curled under me and Crookshanks on my lap, purring. I'm wrapped up in a book, a novel I'm just about to finish; I've become more fond of novels lately. Romances even, though I would never admit that to anyone. But they have to have a happy ending. I read the back page first to make sure before I start it.

Crookshanks stops purring so abruptly that I stop reading and look down at him. His ears are up and twitching and he turns to look back into the house. Then he jumps up and trots to the front door. He doesn't miaow like he usually does when he wants to be let out; he just sits there, staring at the door handle.

It's so strange, I get up. I walk towards the door a few steps, then stop and summon my wand, feeling a bit anxious.

Crookshanks looks up at me and miaows soft and low. I frown at him, and then reach for the door handle.

I open it slowly, my wand held out in front.

He is standing on the step, his back to me. I know it's him in an instant.

He whips around and his face is surprised. His hair is still short, his face tanned, his clothes relaxed – scruffy even.

His face breaks into a tentative grin.

"Miss me?"

I can think of only one word as I fly into him, nearly knocking him off the step. Only one word as I squeeze his shoulders and arms to check he is real and whole and safe and there. One word to answer his low laugh as he puts up with it, then lets me hug him tightly again.

 _Yes._

Oh yes. I missed you.

I pull him inside, not letting go of him for an instant. He seems to fill up my little kitchen with his presence though he is standing quietly, smiling gently at me.

"Harry" I breathe, just staring up at him, drinking in his face. He looks incredibly different, but still everything I remember, his eyes, his scar, he looks just as he appears in my dreams. I feel my skin start to heat as my thoughts turn to the dreams and it spurs me to look away from his face.

He's wearing a leather jacket, and a dark black tee shirt underneath. There's a mark on his neck and I frown, moving to examine it but he turns then, towards my fridge and opens it.

"Anything to eat? I'm fucking starving."

I frown at his language, not from disapproval but just because he'd never been one to swear much. But I pull the fridge open further and reach for the left over take away I had earlier in the night, summoning dishes and cutlery from the cupboard.

I can't be sure, but he seems to pull away from the floating objects with distaste. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as I perform the necessary charms to heat the food and cool the drink.

His whole stance is tense, uncomfortable. I decide against asking him anything till he is eating and can't run away. I feel like he is edgy and anxious to leave and I bristle at that, prepared to body bind him if he tries.

But he lets me fuss over his food, and lead him to the small dining table. He sits down heavily, he seems tired. I notice he doesn't take off his jacket.

I watch him as he starts eating, and after a few mouthfuls and sips of his drink I take a deep breath and wade in.

"Harry. Where the _hell_ have you been?"

He looks up at me, and smiles, a glint in his eyes. I can't reconcile this person with my friend whose glasses I always had to fix; now he still isn't wearing any. He finishes his mouthful.

"So, the answer is yes then?"

"Answer to what?"

"Yes, you missed me."

My anger rushes back powerfully; from wherever it's been banished to since the moment I laid eyes on him. I'm horrified when it starts to manifest as stinging tears behind my eyes. I force myself to say calm.

"Of course I missed you, you idiot." He grins at that and I shake my head and shift my seat closer to him. "I'm glad you find that funny. Because, I've been beside myself, Harry."

His face goes serious then and my tears threaten again. I blink and try and hold his stare but I can't and I look at my hand lying on the table. His fingers appear in front of my vision to wrap over mine; his are still cold from the outside air. I keep blinking furiously.

"Hermione. I'm sorry." He squeezes but I can't look up because my vision is blurred. He shakes my hand gently. "Hey."

I blink once, hard, to clear my tears. But they're still there when I look back at him; I can tell because his face falls. Then he brings me into him in a tight hug. My face presses into his jacket, the leathery smell somehow comforting as I let my arms tighten around his waist. There's that faint smell of cigarette smoke again I notice.

"I'm sorry." He sets me away from him and looks into my face, brushing my tears with his thumbs. "I know... I knew you'd be worried. I should've contacted you." He does look guilty and that makes me feel better.

"Why didn't you?" My voice is quiet but I feel the anger starting to build again.

"I couldn't. I...It's my work, I've been really wrapped up in it."

I frown, and notice he won't meet my eyes. Then I look again at the mark on his neck.

I'm too quick for him this time as my fingers dart to his collar to pull the collar of his jacket away from his neck. Long grey lines of ink are etched into his skin and continue toward his shoulder and collarbone, more lines hinting at the promise of a larger design under his clothes.

I can't help from gasping, and pulling at his tee shirt to try and follow the tattoo, fascinated. He makes sounds of protest that I ignore as I push my hands under his jacket to shrug it off his shoulder.

If the neck tattoo surprised me, I'm absolutely floored by the rest of the design. His tee shirt is short sleeved and I instantly see that his whole left arm is entirely covered in grey shaded designs. It blends to make one full sleeve, but as I stare I make out a few images, a dragon, and some kind of serpent. I run my fingers over his skin, speechless at what he's done.

He tolerates my examination for a bit then he shrugs fully out of his jacket and goes back to eating. I stare at him, trying to comprehend this is the same Harry I know, my Harry.

"Wha...When did you get that done?"

He shrugs, and I can see he's frowning deeply as he shovels food into his mouth.

"Months ago."

I hate him being so elusive, but I can see this is more complicated than I realised. And in that moment I decide I don't care. I don't care what he looks like, what he's done, what state he's in. As long as he's here.

I notice his drink is finished so I summon another. He frowns.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

He snatches the bottle out of mid air.

"Can't we just get up and grab it from the cupboard? Like normal people do?"

My face screws up in a confused grimace but he just keeps his eyes on his plate.

"Uh... well..."

I don't know what to say, but he speaks again.

"Sorry, I'm just...I'm really tired."

I'm still confused but I pick up on what he says.

"So will you stay?" I gesture at the couch. "I can make up a bed."

He smiles again and I think how silly it is that it pleases me so much.

"That'd be great, thanks." He looks around admiringly. "It's a nice place 'Mione."

I can't help the flush of pride. "Thanks. Crookshanks and I love it."

He smiles down at my cat, winding himself around his legs affectionately.

"He's gotten fat."

"He has not!" I'm indignant and Crookshanks stops and glares at Harry for a moment. Harry stoops and scratches his ears and he purrs sort of grudgingly.

"You're still handsome though aren't you mate," he mutters.

I roll my eyes as Crookshanks happily goes back to winding around Harry's legs, pacified.

"Can you tell me where you've been?"

The question falls out of me.

He turns his eyes back to me and I realise my dreams don't do the colour of them any justice. They're much brighter, more...beautiful.

"Honestly?" He watches me carefully. "No."

I just nod, because somehow I expected that answer. "Well can you promise me something then?"

He squints a bit, considering. "Maybe."

"Don't leave. Not for that long again, not without telling me where you're going or when you'll be back – or how to get hold of you. Don't just take off."

He studies my face and I get the feeling he's drinking it in like I was doing to him earlier. Then he grazes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, the most tender, affectionate gesture he's ever made towards to me. I stop breathing for a second.

"Okay. I'll do my best. And you promise me something?"

I nod.

"Don't tell anyone I was here. Or that you've heard from me at all. Okay?"

I frown, puzzled and shocked, but I can see he's deadly serious. I make my own condition.

"For now."

He shrugs at that answer. "Yeah, for now."

So with that uneasy peace between us, I go about getting the bed set up. I remember his reaction moments before and I do it without magic, though I'm incredibly confused about all that. I bring a towel too and ask him if he wants a shower. He nods gratefully and I show him to the bathroom.

I try not to form an image of him in there as the sound of the running water drums through the ceiling above me and I try and watch TV. I finally realise he might want some fresh clothes so I dig around and find a pair of Ron's tracksuit pants and old tee shirt and place it outside the door. Just as I do, the water shuts off and so I almost run back downstairs.

He comes back down in just his jeans though, holding the rest of his clothes.

I swallow hard. He is lean; not an inch of fat on him, but muscular and tanned as if he's been working outside without a shirt a lot. The tattoo covers his whole left shoulder, right down to his wrist. I make a supreme effort not to stare and grab his clothes from him.

"I'll wash your shirt."

He frowns, but nods quietly as I go about hanging his jacket over a chair, putting his shoes by the door and putting his tee shirt in the front loader in the kitchen.

When I'm done he's sitting on the bed I've made of the couch and I feel oddly fulfilled, like the couch was really meant for him after all.

I bring over a cup of tea with me and he takes it gratefully. I take a seat in the armchair opposite.

He asks tentatively after Hagrid then Luna, but when he says 'how are they' and I respond with 'worried about you' both times he gives up and sits in silence. Then we find safer ground talking about Kreacher and he asks about Capella.

"He said she's yours?"

"Well, yeah."

"It's nice of you to leave her there with him. He loves that owl."

I nod knowingly; it's blatantly obvious Kreacher loves caring for her I know. I glance at him as he takes a slow sip from his mug.

"I got her to find you." He flinches just slightly at that. "She couldn't."

"Yeah." He avoids my eyes. "I'm not surprised."

I watch him till he looks back at me. "She's beautiful." He smiles sadly. "A lot like Hedwig."

I nod but my emotions swell up again and I can't speak.

He puts his mug down and leans into the couch, tipping his head back and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. I have to focus really hard on the television for a moment because I'm having a hard time keeping my eyes off the definition of his stomach. I really still can't believe he's there, or how different he is. I clear my throat.

"Tired?"

I don't want to end the conversation, but I get this sense that I shouldn't push things too far too fast with him. It feels strangely like he's a wild thing that I'm trying to get close to by slowly gaining its trust, and any wrong movement could send them bolting into the darkness again.

He nods to my question and smiles wearily.

"You must be too, sorry it's so late." I want to deny it but find myself yawning. "How's the training going?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Good I guess, though I did _so_ badly on my last exam."

He smiles at me, and it warms me so deeply that it's a real one – and is the closest I've come tonight to seeing the Harry I know. He even laughs slightly.

"Let me guess... you only got 100 percent."

I sit up straighter, instantly defensive. "Well, but 122 has been my average so..." I trail off, feeling foolish in the face of his knowing smile. My voice is quiet but I still have to finish. "I just..should've expanded not that last question. I _knew_ more facts than I gave - I just second guessed it."

He shakes his head and grins but says nothing more.

I decide I should leave on a good note. Besides, I have something to ask him and I need him in a good mood.

I stand up and walk to sit by him on his couch. His face grows serious; he sees I have some ulterior motive.

"Harry can you..." I grab his hand and stare at both of mine clutching his. "Promise me you'll be here in the morning."

He shakes his head minutely but hesitates before answering.

"I'm not sure. I have to be away really early."

I nod and grasp his hand tighter. "That's okay. Just wake me first." He nods slowly but I grasp tighter.

"Promise."

He rolls his eyes then smiles. "I promise."

"Great." I grin and stand up, grasping his face and tilting it down to plant a kiss on the top of this head. He might have laughed softly but I'm not sure. But I suddenly realise then that I want to stay. I want to lie on the couch next to him and never let him go.

So I turn and nearly run up the stairs to my room.

I try for probably three hours to get to sleep. But my mind feels wired and on edge – I'm hopelessly tired but I don't want to take anything or do any charm to make me sleep because I want to be alert to hear him leave if he does.

So when I can't stand not knowing anymore, I put my dressing gown on and creep downstairs.

I half expect him to be gone but he's there; lying sprawled over the wide couch, blanket across his waist. The television is still on; he must've fallen asleep watching it. My relief that he's still there is so intense I stop for a second and just enjoy the sight of him, peacefully sleeping – his chest rising and falling in deep breaths.

One arm is slung up over his head; the other – his left, with the tattoos – is resting across his eyes. I inch closer, scared to wake him, but getting an overwhelming urge to study the tattoo closer.

I get within a few feet and he stirs, jolting a little and I freeze, watching as he dreams. A low moan escapes him and then he's still again.

I kneel quietly at his side. I can just make out under his arm that he's frowning in his sleep, as if something in his dream troubles him. And so even though I know he'd be mad, I perform the Dreamless Sleep Charm I just perfected in training last month. It's harmless, and helps you wake refreshed, but allows a deep sleep.

His arm drops from his face and his features instantly relax as I watch.

Now his arm is stretched out, hanging from the couch with his fingers nearly touching the carpet. I manoeuvre around to be able to lean closer and study the design by the flickering light of the television.

It just looks like grey shading until you get closer and see how intricate the artwork is. I've never been much of a tattoo girl, but I have to admit, it is pretty amazing.

Looking closer I see there are various pictures woven together, a sinuous dragon, mouth open, breathing grey fire on the outside of his upper arm. On the inside of his bicep is a majestic looking creature with an eagle's head and a horse's body – a Hippogriff I realise with a start. The supple body of a serpent twists around his forearm and I follow it to its head, which has black eyes and oversized fangs. The Basilisk? I look at his face then, soundly sleeping and shake my head. What is this all about?

Then a design on the inside of his wrist catches my eye and I lean closer. It's a small circular disc, set in a delicate semi circle. A thin chain comes from it and winds around his wrist once and back again, the skilful artistry making it appear as lifelike as a real necklace.

Something about it makes me touch it, and trace the lines, it's so familiar.

I gasp loudly as soon as my mind grasps it and I glance at him quickly – glad I performed the charm or I surely would've woken him then. The Time Turner. It's the Time Turner on its long chain.

I stare at his face for a long time before lifting his arm up to lay across his chest for him. I brush my fingers across his scar gently, just once, because I know he won't wake up.

Then I summon a blanket and move to the armchair, curl my feet up under myself and watch him until I sleep.

"Hermione."

I'm dreaming that we're in the hospital ward, Harry and I. We're at Hogwarts but he looks like he does now, hair short, neck marked with the tattoo. I unwind the chain from my neck and reach up on tiptoes to put it around him too. I'm conscious of how close we are - I can feel the heat from his body as we stand together with the chain around the two of us.

I hold the delicate Time Turner between my forefinger and thumb and go to spin it. But he circles my wrist with his fingers and they're gripping me strongly. I glance slowly up to his eyes and he stares back, with that startlingly green. Nerves course sharply through me.

"Hermione Jane."

He leans down slowly, and then finally his lips are on mine, warm, soft...

I open my eyes with a jolt.

I'm still curled on the armchair, but early morning light is breaking through the kitchen windows now. I turn my head slightly and see Harry, leaning in to me, his hand around my wrist. He's fully dressed, his shoes on and looking ready to go. His face is interested, amused even, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

My mind slams into wakefulness and I give a guilty start. My dream whistles away like vanishing smoke, I pull myself up to sit. He lets go of my wrist and waits, then bends down to pick up a tea he's made me.

I take it slowly, glad he's still here but feeling a little sick that he's obviously leaving soon and also with the embarrassment of my dream still lingering. He waits for me to take a sip.

"I have to go."

I just nod, though I want to plead with him not to.

"I...I'll come back soon yeah?"

I look up at him standing over me and embarrassingly my eyes fill with tears.

"Yes. Please."

He smiles and brushes my cheek again, like he did last night. I close my eyes, and it forces out a tear. He wipes it with the pad of his thumb.

"Soon. I really will."

I nod, my head down.

He starts to walk towards the door.

"Harry James?"

He turns around, smiling.

"Can I send Capella to you?"

He looks truly regretful. "Not yet okay? Next time."

I see in his eyes he's telling the truth so I feel much better, warmer. I still feel a bit panicky though but try and hide it behind my cup.

"Next time" I repeat.

He nods and holds a hand up. He waves at me, then turns and pulls open the door.

I watch him go.

Lyrics credits(in order): Missing by Everything But the Girl, Fix You by Coldplay.


	3. Chapter 3

Come Undone

Chapter 3

The next few weeks are torture.

I excuse myself from everything I'm invited to, becoming a virtual hermit, just so I can stay home. I even fake to Ron that I'm sick, some 'woman's problem' I tell him, so he eases off. I either clean the house or sit and read in the armchair facing the door; I don't want music or the television on because it might make me miss the sound of footsteps.

It's slightly neurotic I know, and I have to admit to myself that the feelings go beyond mere concern for a friend. Particularly because my dreams are intense, and every night they are of him.

But I'm not too concerned. I already knew my feelings for Harry danced pretty close to crossing the friendship line, but he's never felt like that about me, so it's been easy to bury. And the mystery surrounding him now, that's part of it too I tell myself. I've always loved a mystery.

So I just try not to think about it all too much – which I'm failing at, badly. I am happy that at least it's been easy to keep his visit from everyone. I promised him and I know I can't go back on that so I just don't. If anything, they're more concerned about me now, because I'm acting weird and hibernating. But no one really talks about him much lately; it's a bit too painful. Besides, I like to justify to myself that if Harry comes back again and I can get through to him, everyone else will be happy then. So, I keep my secret safe for now.

Crookshanks has started living upstairs for the most part because he can't stand me hovering over him; every time he jumps up I follow him, annoying him I know by saying 'What – what is it boy?". He's so over it he only sees me for meals and to be let out.

Kreacher and I shared a ridiculously joyful moment when I went to see him the afternoon after Harry came back. We went through every detail together; he was just as excited as me at his masters' reappearance I think. I'm so tempted to try and send Capella again but I just stop myself. Next time, I repeat in my head like a mantra. Next time.

But by the end of the second week, I'm feeling discouraged again. I've just finished putting away all the groceries I've brought, keeping the cupboards stocked at all times because I know that whenever he reappears, he'll be hungry.

Now I'm sitting in my armchair, reading the same paragraph of my textbook over and over again, not taking anything in. My mind is so preoccupied lately; I've been getting steady 100 per cents in all my tests.

I drift in and out of sleep. I hear a low miaow from Crookshanks and get up sleepily to let him out. But he's not by the door I realise drowsily; he's sitting on the couch, looking at the door. I come awake instantly and look at him properly, he's looking back smugly, purring now, and I even imagine him smiling slightly.

Then I hear it.

There's a thumping on my porch, like boots on the concrete step.

I dash to the door and wrench it open and sure enough, it's him.

He's bent right over, like he's out of breath and I put my hand on his shoulder and lean down.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

He stands up slowly and I realise he's _laughing_. I frown but it's infectious, my mouth pulls up in a smile too.

"Hi 'Mione." He laughs and grabs my arm, moving us both indoors. "Come on, let's get off the street."

We move inside, and this close, I can smell the alcohol. And cigarette smoke.

I turn to look at him, though he's still holding my upper arm, still laughing.

"Harry James! Are you drunk?"

He lets go of me, bends down to pat Crookshanks who's winding around his legs. He murmurs something to him, then straightens up.

"A little." He laughs. "Sorry."

He turns slightly and gestures to the door. "Lost my footing. Your flowers by the stairs are a bit ...dented."

The reality that he's here, safe, even happy, finally hits me and I fling my arms around his neck.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

He squeezes me back, and bends his face into my neck, which is covered by my hair.

"Mmm. Your hair smells nice."

I lean back and smile up at him. "You're drunk."

"And you" - his hands move lightly from my waist to my hips- "..are beautiful."

My smile drops immediately at that and I have to hold on to him, feeling like I'm swaying slightly. His easy, amused expression freezes suddenly and he clears his throat. He kisses me briskly on the forehead and sets me away from him, almost forcefully.

I try not to be offended and stand there, brushing my hands on my jeans for some reason.

"Hungry then?"

His grin comes back. "Starving."

It's easier, this time, being with him. My questions aren't bubbling up so fretfully in my throat, because he's come back. I can let myself think, as I watch him move around my kitchen, making his food, that this could be the start of some kind of ritual for us.

I lean on my elbows as he talks to Crookshanks who's keeping up a steady stream of animated miaowing. He'd always liked Harry but I don't know when he became so shamelessly enamoured with him - he couldn't be more obvious if he tried.

"Do you want some?" He gestures at the frying pan and I shake my head, no. Truth be told, I have a full colony of butterflies in my stomach right now which wouldn't lend itself to digestion very well.

I get us both some Butterbeer though and we sit down again at my kitchen table. He's taken his jacket off but he has a long sleeved top on this time, I can't see his body art – just that small visible part at the neck which I can't stop glancing at.

"How've you been?"

I smile. How do I tell him I've been a mess? Tied up in knots wondering if he's coming back, confusing Ron who I've called it off with _again_ and who thinks I'm going completely mad. Worrying my friends who wonder why I don't do anything with them lately. Worrying _myself_ because sometimes _I_ wonder if I'm going mad or at the very least a bit silly with preparing for this moment – stocking my cupboards, buying him a toothbrush and even _pyjamas_ for gods sake, not that I think I'll be brave enough to give them to him. How do I tell him that?

"Fine."

He smiles and starts eating. We sit in comfortable silence for a bit. Then something nags me.

"How'd you get here?"

He tries not to let me see that his smile slips a little.

"The tube."

I frown slightly but don't comment further. I'm kind of glad he didn't apparate in his inebriated state, but I'm beginning to wonder if he uses magic for anything now.

He can see me thinking I guess, and he elaborates.

"It's a nice night out" he says by way of explanation but I know there's more to it.

I shake my head and let it go, as seems to be the theme lately.

"Will you stay?"

He nods. "If that's okay."

"Of course it is."

"I can...I mean, I'll hang around tomorrow if you want to... I don't know, go do something" he says casually. I want to hug him again at that but I just get up to go and make up the couch.

"That'd be great" I manage as I walk away.

I bring him a towel for a shower and after much debate with myself; I end up leaving the pyjamas out for him. I'm really pleased when he comes down the stairs in them, just a white v neck t shirt and lightly striped loose pants. He looks more like my Harry again, except for the one arm covered in the tattoo, reminding me how much I don't know about him now.

He pulls at his shirt.

"Thanks for this."

He seems a little more sober now. He sits next to me, our legs almost touching.

"So, you're really going to be here in the morning?"

I watch his eyes carefully because no matter how much I feel he's changed, I'm positive I still know him well enough to know if he's lying.

"Yup. I am. I was thinking we could go and maybe grab something to eat."

"And maybe you can start telling me a little bit more about what you're up to."

He laughs, but just shrugs in response. He leans back into the couch and I touch his arm.

"Get some rest then. I'll see you in the morning."

He squeezes my shoulder then I stand up.

He immediately lies down, his eyes already closing.

"Harry?"

"Mmm"

"I'll see you in the morning...?"

I'm still close enough that he catches my hand easily without moving, and squeezes it, reassuring.

"I promise."

Two hours later I'm still not asleep and so I repeat my routine from the last night he stayed. Making my way quietly down the stairs with a blanket, I'm relieved again, but not as surprised this time, to see him still there, and sprawled on the couch.

He was obviously too warm in my lounge room because he's taken his t shirt off. I can't help but smile. His physique is as impressive as last time; I indulge in a moment to appreciate and can't help but smile. I make a mental note not to turn my heating down when he's around.

Finally I move to my armchair but as I pass, I notice something by his foot. The blanket is only covering him from his waist to his knees, his feet sticking out the bottom.

His pants have ridden up and I can see something black attached to his ankle. Leaning closer I frown, trying to work out what it is.

I press my hand against my lips to stifle my gasp of surprise. There, strapped neatly into a black holster is a small handgun.

I turn to stare at him and then realise his eyes are open.

"It's not loaded."

Speech is failing me and I just stare at him, my mouth slightly open.

"It's just safer to wear it there for now."

I frown and finally find my tongue.

"Safer as in that it won't go off... or safer in that _I_ won't see it?"

He smiles dryly and pulls himself up to sit. Bending to reach his ankle his undoes the holster and releases the gun. I watch in mute horror and fascination as he holds it gently in his hand.

"Both" he finally answers. He releases the magazine from its chamber and shows me there are no bullets inside, then replaces it.

"The Kel tec P-3AT, the world's lightest semi automatic pistol." He pulls back the sliding mechanism on top, twice methodically, checking the barrel is empty. "Double action, .380 auto cartridge, six round capacity." It's as if he's talking to himself as his fingers run smoothly over the small black gun.

"Recoil and practical accuracy comparable to much larger guns but, " he flips it in his hand and holds it out to me handle first, "small enough for a concealed carry."

I realise he still knows me as well as ever, because he's appealing to my curiosity. It's warring inside of me with my concern right now but I do take the pistol, surprised immediately at how light it is.

He watches me as I stare at it and I know he's just waiting for what I'm going to say now.

When I speak, it comes out in a whisper.

"But Harry...Is this... legal?"

He bites his lip.

"Hermione...there's only so much..." He changes his mind. "It's just in case, okay? Don't worry about this – or me. I didn't want to worry you."

"What do you mean 'don't worry!' How can I... where is your wand?"

He looks guarded and somehow resigned. But he answers.

"I don't carry it anymore."

"What?"

He smiles. "I don't want to. I... I want to live my life normally. Without magic."

I'm stunned into silence. He reaches forward and gently takes the gun off me. I gladly relinquish it, and just watch him, feeling numb as he places it on the coffee table, and then takes off the ankle holster. He rubs his leg for a moment and then lies back, his arms behind his head.

"There's nothing to worry about – okay? I'm fine. I'm not in any trouble."

My frown is heavy in sarcasm. "Yeah, trouble and you have always been distant strangers."

He grins and shuffles up, shifting his legs across and patting the couch; his movements serving as an invitation for me to tuck myself under the blanket at the opposite end. So I do.

He throws one of his pillows down to me.

"Get some sleep."

I fit my legs down alongside his. The couch is so long his feet only come to my hip but I feel the warmth from his body keenly. My last thought is of how on earth he expects me to sleep with this latest revelation – coupled with the sensations his close proximity is causing me, but despite that, the warmest, best sleep I've had in a long time, settles over me in minutes.

I wake up to the smell of bacon cooking.

I look around and see him in the kitchen, shirt on again. I glance at the coffee table and see the gun is gone too; I'm not sure where.

I stretch out long and slowly feel the excitement building from my stomach and coursing through me to my toes.

A whole day with him. I didn't want it to start just so it wouldn't end.

* * *

 _And the shadow of the day_

 _Will embrace the world in grey_

 _And the sun will set for you._

* * *

It's a strange day.

We spend a lot of it in a semi comfortable silence which reminds me acutely of our time alone together when Ron left us on the Horcrux hunt.

After breakfast, we walk. Down to the park and then on to a pub for a warm lunch. It's a Saturday and there's some football on in a small television hung high in a corner.

"Do you miss it? Magic?"

I speak up once the waitress has gone, taking our order to the kitchen.

He looks up into mid air, thinking on my question. His voice is quiet when he answers.

"No."

"How...how can that be? It was everything to you – I don't understand."

He looks solemn and something makes me reach across to take his hand. He flinches noticeably but he doesn't pull away. Instead he takes a drink of his beer with his other hand. A group watching the football cheers loudly and it makes me jump, he waits for the noise to die down before he answers.

"I don't expect you to understand. But I just hope you can...respect it maybe?" I search his eyes, but they're guarded again. "I changed a lot Hermione. I didn't realise how much until...well until it was too late."

He's watching the television now and a muscle flexes in his jaw. Again I have that feeling that I shouldn't push it further for now.

"Okay." I sigh. "As long as you keep being honest with me. Well as honest as you can be" I say, shrugging my shoulders.

He looks back to me then, and smiles.

"You know, I don't think I've ever told you." He places his other hand over mine and looks at it. "I couldn't have asked for a better friend than you. You're..." He glances up and the smile is gone, he looks terribly sad. "I really don't know what I did to deserve you."

"Oh, Harry."

It's all I can manage. I stare at the table for the moment, examining the feelings rushing through me. I'm glad, so thrilled that he feels that but a distant part of me is saddened by it too. Why? A sly and taunting inner voice tells me quietly that it's because I want more. More than being the best friend he has. I want to be more than that.

But it's always been like that with him hasn't it, I admit. I want more. But I settle for anything he can give me. And at the moment, that's not a lot.

But it's enough.

We decide to go to Grimmauld Place and pay a visit to Kreacher. I haven't expected us to run into Ron today, or anyone else in particular, but I wonder if he is worried we might. He doesn't seem to be. We walk slowly and I'm not sure if I'm imagining it but it feels like he's drawing out our time together too.

We walk and tube to Grimmauld, and I quite enjoy the novelty of not travelling by magic. He laughs at me as I put the ticket into the turnstile with poorly hidden delight. I used to take the tube with my Mum occasionally, but I haven't for years.

Kreacher is overwhelmed to see us. He insists on fixing food, and we both humour him, even though neither of us is hungry yet. But we have something to drink and spend the afternoon in the kitchen, picking at the feast Kreacher prepares.

We barely talk at all because even memories aren't safe. When we've tried, inevitably the subject of Ron, and or, worse, Ginny promises to come up and I think neither of us would really know what to say then.

Eventually Harry goes up to his room, returning in new clothes and with a small bag. It makes me remember that I have no idea where he's going or when he'll be back again and I feel slightly sick all of a sudden.

"Do you remember your promise? Last time."

He glances at me and I wonder if he's forgotten. I press on.

"You said we could send Capella." The beautiful bird ruffles her wings from her perch at the mention of her name.

He nods. "I did." He stands there and watches me for a moment. Then suddenly he goes over to her and bends to her white head, patting her gently as he speaks to her in a low voice.

He walks back to me, slowly, the way people do when they're approaching you to say goodbye. When he gets to me, he buries his hands in his pockets and smiles.

"Just not too often okay?"

I stare at his chest in front of me, wondering if these goodbyes will get any easier. I place my palms flat on him, looking at them instead.

"Well, just not too _long_ then. Okay?" I look up at him finally.

He stares back, his face serious and unreadable.

"Not too long" he repeats. Then he slides his hand to my neck, his thumb resting along my jaw. We stay like that for just a second before he leans to kiss the opposite cheek quite hard, gripping my neck and pulling me in to him. He kisses me once and then presses his face into my hair. Then abruptly he drops his hand and walks past me without another glance.

When I turn, he's at the door. He raises a hand to Kreacher and then looks at me.

"Bye."

My reply is resolute.

"See you soon."

The next wait is less torturous than the last, for several reasons.

The first is that I know he's coming back. I don't know how exactly, I just know, I'm sure now.

The second is that Ron starts seeing someone else.

I don't think it's really serious. He met her through his job at the Ministry. From everything I hear, she seems more interested in Ron's fame than anything, but he's happy – and off my back. We can have lunch as friends now and the last time I paid a visit to the Burrow there was no awkwardness between us. I was glad Ginny was at Quidditch training at the time though. There has been no thaw in the slight tension between us.

Lastly is the fact that a week after he goes, I send my first letter.

It takes me a long time to figure out what to write and I'm not hopeful of getting a reply. But once I finish I sit back and reread it, happy with the final draft.

 _H,_

 _So I know it's only been a week but there's only so much suspense I can handle...I need to see if this works. C is dying to prove herself too; though K is paranoid she'll get hurt again. I really hope this finds you, and you can let me know you're okay – wherever you are._

 _Things with me are good. Training is going really well, my scores are creeping up again. I'm assisting at St M's from next week so that should be interesting._

 _I miss you. How long will you keep us waiting this time?_

 _Love,_

 _H._

I leave the names out as a precaution. I figure he is being secretive for a reason, and I don't want to put him, or anyone for that matter, in any danger.

It's another two weeks before I get an answer.

 _H,_

 _Yes it works. I thought one week was pretty restrained of you actually._

 _C did perfectly. Please tell K she's in no danger. She drops the letters somewhere safe._

 _St M's will be lucky to have you. You're going to be an amazing Healer._

 _Two days._

 _I miss you too._

 _H._

It's written in biro, on lined paper. His writing is just as I remember it from school though, even though it isn't written with a quill and ink. I must read that letter a thousand times. I decide it isn't safe to carry it with me though; Ron or Luna or someone could stumble across it, so I have to unlock the drawer of my bedside cabinet whenever I want to read it. Which is often.

Two days he said.

And he was telling the truth.

* * *

 _Sometimes when you and I collide_

 _I fall into an ocean of you_

 _Pull me out in time don't let me drown._

* * *

I know he's coming because Crookshanks is antsy for the whole hour beforehand. I don't know how he knows, but I've given up questioning anything about that cat.

All I can do is wait.

He's slightly intoxicated again this time. I smell it on him when I wrap him in my hug; I notice he lifts me off the ground a little while I'm burying my face in his neck. When he sets me down again I look at him properly and my smile drops, he has a bruised eye and a split lip.

"What happened!"

I automatically go to touch it and he leans back avoiding my hand. He smiles and shakes his head, shrugging out of his jacket.

"Nothing – just a scuffle. No damage."

"But..." I trail off because I automatically want to fix his lip but that would require magic. I remember a muggle first aid kit my Mum gave me when I moved in - for some strange reason; she still doesn't really understand about Healing – and I grab a chair to reach it from the top cupboard while he opens the fridge.

I interrupt his cooking minutes later to apply some primitive antiseptic cream on his cut lip.

"Wait...don't.."

"It's a muggle remedy. Don't have a fit" I mutter as I dab it on his lip. He rolls his eyes but tolerates my ministrations, standing still.

"This is recent. Like, tonight recent."

"Mmm."

I make a tsk noise. "'Mmm' he says."

He grins at that, and then grimaces as the lip breaks again.

"Hold still."

He presses his lips together but he's still smiling slightly. I sigh.

"What am I gonna do with you."

"I don't deserve you, you know that right?"

"Yes."

I set the table for him and wait, to sit and watch him eat, to barely talk, I know. I don't care. He's here and it's enough. I pour a glass of wine.

"So. How's Ron."

I just about choke on my drink. I stare at him, eyes wide, eyebrows raised.

He doesn't look fazed at all. "What?"

"Uh...well...we haven't talked about him since... since you started visiting. Why the turn around?"

He shrugs, stabs at the food on his plate.

"Dunno. Just wanna know if the grumpy bastard is alright I guess."

I tell him, everything Ron's been up to work wise, how he tried out for but didn't get into the Tutshill Tornadoes.

"And he's really mad about it because Ginny's doing so..."

I cut off mid sentence which is probably the worst thing I could do but I can't help it. I think his face flushes and I curse myself inwardly. But he recovers and carries on.

"It's okay. How is Ginny?"

I shake my head. "Not so good. She still misses you. I ...I wish you'd just write to her or something."

He drops his fork with a clatter, and takes a long drink.

"There's no point Hermione. There's nothing more to say."

I frown but drop it for now. I don't really want to talk about Ginny anyway.

"Why do you come and see me Harry?"

He stops chewing and looks at me. Finally he starts again, and I can see him thinking.

"I just... I needed ...a bit of sanity." He smiles and I think he's trying to be offhand. "And I know you'll let me in."

"Any of your friends would let you in. They all miss you."

He concentrates on his plate.

"Yeah, but you let me in...unconditionally."

I think about that for a moment and realise he's right. I wonder if that's a good or a bad thing. I decide to change the subject.

"So, the fight – did you win?"

He laughs, and dabs gingerly at his lip.

"Two drunk bastards fighting? No one wins."

I just shake my head.

We go about our routine and after his shower he lets me retouch his wound.

"I wish you'd let me do this properly."

He mimics me in a silly voice and I hit him on the shoulder but can't help smiling. He grins and stands there, jiggling a bit, itching to sit down. He smells good now, and the grey singlet I brought him hugs his chest and narrow torso too nicely. I roll my eyes. Stop – I admonish myself slightly.

"What."

"Nothing. When are you leaving?"

"First thing."

I'm disappointed; I thought he'd at least have another day.

"Sorry, I shouldn't really have come. It's getting a bit..."

I narrow my eyes at him and he looks away; I can see he's said too much. He sits on his couch and I put my hands on my hips.

"Are you ever going to tell me what you're up to?"

He makes a face as if he's considering. "Not if I can help it."

I throw the used cotton bud at him. He's smiling again, and he swings his legs up on the couch. He reaches down to his ankle and pulls the gun out of its holster, stripping it down, checking it and removing the magazine, laying it all on the coffee table. I just watch him as he does all this brazenly, not worried about me seeing anymore.

I fall into my armchair. I'll end up here anyway.

He arches an eyebrow at me, but just lies back.

"You comfortable there?"

"Wake me when you head out."

He nods. I turn off the tv and we both settle down to sleep.

"Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for writing me."

His reply comes after a while, through the darkness.

"Thanks for writing me first."

I don't sleep well, because I'm anxious about my plan.

Every time he stirs I wake, and whip my head around to him. He mumbles in his sleep, I make out a few clear words; 'not ready', 'have to cut it' – strange murmurings. And one name. A girls name, he says it a few times.

Angie.

It burns my gut in that familiar way from school. Whoever Angie is, I hope she's good to him.

After that, I perform the Dreamless Sleep charm again.

I'm still awake when I hear him get up, quietly get dressed and go and make some tea, for me. Pre dawn light is only just creeping through the curtains. He finally moves over to touch my shoulder.

"Hermione."

He waits patiently while I pretend to wake and then hands me the mug of tea.

"How long this time?"

"Longer."

"Harry."

"Sorry. But you can write." I glare up at him and he amends his sentence. "I'd like it if you write."

I nod. "Okay."

"I've really gotta go."

I go to put my tea down but he stops me.

"Don't get up."

He bends and lightly holds my face, kissing the top of my head and holding his lips there for a few seconds.

"I'll see you."

I mumble a 'see you soon' and then he's gone.

I abandon the tea and throw my blanket off quickly, bounding up the stairs two at a time. I chuck on my jeans, a jumper and shoes almost without breaking stride and get to my beside cabinet and unlock it, pulling out the gossamer thin material in there that I took from Grimmauld Place last week.

Seconds later I'm on the street, wand in hand, under the Invisibility Cloak. I whirl my head around and just see his back as he turns the corner of my street in the distance. I hurry to follow.

There is, after all, only so much mystery this witch can take.

I run to the corner he disappeared around, gripping the cloak around me.

When I round the corner I just about bang into him.

I swallow my surprised squeak and cover my mouth, stopping just in time. I try to still my breathing while I back away a bit.

He's standing still, just looking around, calmly. His eyes belie his apparent calm though, darting everywhere – up to windows, up and down the street, looking for ...something. He reminds me of an animal, paused to smell for a predator.

Then he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks, head down, but eyes still searching. I follow fairly closely; glad I put soft soled shoes on.

He crosses the street and I have to walk faster to keep up with his stride. I almost miss when he ducks into an alley at the last minute.

We break through on to a parallel street and I realise for the first time, we're heading in the opposite direction of the tube.

Then he stops by a car, pulls some keys from his pocket and pushes a button. The car flashes a welcome and all the locks come undone.

I don't know anything about cars. But I know this is a nice one, not too flashy – but expensive. It's black, with a black leather interior.

I watch in amazement and frustration as he steps down into it and turns the key. The car roars into life, the engine is quite throaty at first, and then settles to a low rumble.

It mirrors the angry burn in my chest as Harry checks his mirrors, then peels away into the street, gone in seconds.

"Fuck it." I'm not much for swearing myself but sometimes it's the only thing that sums it up.

Lyrics credit: Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park, Sway by Bic Runga.


	4. Chapter 4

Come Undone

Chapter Four

 _H_

 _I wonder about you all day you know. What you're doing, who you're with. What it must be like to be around people who don't really know you like we do. It makes me sad._

 _How are you? Really._

 _My internship is hilarious. I've been in Accidents and we get all sorts in – extra toes grown, one woman changed herself into a wardrobe the other day. Quite impressive if it wasn't so dire. You have to keep a sense of humour. I can't wait to tell you more._

 _The Big Ginger Cat misses you. He finds every day you're not here too long._

 _Love,_

 _H x_

 _H,_

 _Don't be sad for me. I'm okay. I still have you._

 _But I am tired._

 _I want to hear all those stories. I can just imagine. It will be a while till I can though. Maybe months._

 _I miss the BGC too. I only really sleep properly when I'm with him._

 _H_

Ginny finally talks to me. Though, I kinda wish now that she hadn't.

"Have you heard from Harry?"

It's so unexpected I don't have time not to react, my face flushes and my breath sticks in my throat. She's watching me very closely, appraising.

"No."

She stares a bit longer and nods.

"I thought he might try and contact you."

The 'you' is stressed, and unmistakably bitter.

"Why do you think that?"

At that she breaks her stare and looks away. "Just a hunch."

I know there's something more, but that she won't tell me.

"If you've got something to say Ginny, I wish you'd just say it."

She glares openly at me. Then she turns and walks out of the room without another word. Another mystery in my life – just what I need.

I feel guilty for lying, to her and to everyone. But what do I say? Yes I've seen Harry, but that doesn't mean I really have anything to tell them. I know nothing about him. Only that I crave him more every day.

 _H,_

 _That took much too long. Reply faster._

 _Nothing much new to tell. L(Moon) discovered a new species of plant in South Africa, it's amazing and she's getting quite famous for it. I'll tell you all about it when you turn up._

 _How's Angie?_

 _I hope she's looking after you._

 _The BGC doesn't sleep well without you either._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _H,_

 _I won't even ask how you know about Angie. I've learnt better than to question your intelligence._

 _She is a lost soul that one. She doesn't look after me, but she tries. I look after her._

 _I'm so happy for L. She deserves that._

 _I think of the BGC when I'm drifting off to sleep. It helps._

 _H._

 _H,_

 _Sorry about the Angie question. It's none of my business._

 _Please tell me when you're coming back._

 _The BGC needs to know how much longer he has to make it through._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _H,_

 _Two weeks I think. Best I can do sorry. Will let you know closer to time._

 _Don't be sorry about questions. I'm the one who's sorry I can't answer them properly._

 _And I hope the BGC knows I don't keep him waiting on purpose. I'll come as soon as I can, I promise._

 _Love,_

 _H._

We're all out after work, having drinks one night when Ron gets all emotional about Harry.

"I just...I don't understand 'Mione. I thought we were friends."

This is the first time we've spoken about Harry in ages and I'm instantly guarded, scared I'm going to say the wrong thing. I feel unbearably guilty, looking at Ron gazing sorrowfully into his glass. I try and shake the fog the wine has put on me and answer.

"We still are friends Ron. He'll come back one day."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. We both still think of him as our best friend. I'm sure he still thinks of us in the same way, no matter what. Wherever he is."

Ron drapes an arm around my shoulders. His latest girlfriend, Laura, casts a sideways glance at us. Ron doesn't notice.

"You've always been like that 'Mione."

"Like what?"

"You just ... _trust_ him. You know him better than anyone I think." His words are stabbing me through the heart and he has no idea. He squeezes me to him and kisses the top of my head. Laura looks fit to burst. He carries on.

"I sometimes think we got it all wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe it should've been the two of you – y'know? He told me once he thought of you as a sister. But I don't know. I wonder if you two wouldn't have been better suited than us." He smiles sadly.

My mouth has gone dry. I'm torn between quizzing him further and getting the hell away from this torture. Catching Laura's glare again, I disentangle myself.

"I don't think so Ron. Harry and Ginny – you know, it was..." I'm truly lost for words. "He loved her."

He looks at me considering.

"Yeah. But not enough not to leave her."

My mouth falls open a little and I wonder at Ron, how he still manages to surprise me with these moments of insight - when he shows he's not as clueless as he appears to be at times. Then he shrugs, breaks into a grin and grabs a handful of crisps from the table, shoving them into his mouth before talking again.

"But who knows. I just hope the daft prick turns up again one day."

I stare at the table, sobriety settling over me.

"So do I."

 _H_

 _I'm worried about you. I dreamt that you were hurt and bleeding and I couldn't get to you. When are you coming back?_

 _Mr W is getting antsy again. Says we should've heard something more by now about you. I think he wants to start an investigation. I'm almost tempted to tell him to go ahead! It's been 2 months since I saw you last._

 _R also misses you, he admitted that the other night. He got into the Arrows you'll be pleased to hear – the training squad anyway._

 _The BGC is suffering. Not eating. Didn't realise he'd miss you that much._

 _H x_

 _H,_

 _I was going to start with 'don't worry' again, but I know you will. Just know that I'm fine, really. I'm sorry to put all this on you. I should've stayed away._

 _I'll take care of Mr W –thanks for the heads up. That's good about R – no Confundus needed huh?_

 _By the way, I've been thinking it's kinda risky me just turning up, not to mention rude. You might have someone there. I just shouldn't presume I can just waltz in when I like._

 _Tell the BGC to look after himself, please. I'm not far away._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _H,_

 _You can turn up when you like. No one will be here._

 _I'm waiting for you_

I sit back and stare at the parchment on the table in front of me – at what I've just written.

 _I'm waiting for you._

The black ink seems to bounce off the page at me. I study it a while longer before ripping it off and screwing it up. Crookshanks looks up in anticipation; he's surrounded by screwed up paper balls- my many discarded drafts- that he's been batting cheerfully around the kitchen and dining area.

It takes me so long to write a letter to Harry now.

I just... I end up saying too much. I know I'm aching to see him again, I've admitted that at least, to myself. I just don't want it to come out on paper. The only allowance is when we write about Crookshanks. I'm almost sure he knows we're talking about me now.

I frown and shake my head, smoothing out a new piece of parchment. I need to get this written. The faster I get it sent, the faster he can reply.

Then I hear a knock at the door.

I glance at the clock. Midnight? Maybe Ron. I trudge to the door, then I see Crookshanks.

He's beaten me to it, pacing and purring in the front entranceway, the opposite of what he does when Ron arrives.

My breath hitches in my throat and my stomach lurches. I try and calm myself as I head to the door but my feet betray me, and get me there too quickly. I wrench it open.

He doesn't wait on the threshold; he comes straight for me this time.

I don't get a chance to see his expression before he's wrapping his arms around me, holding me as tightly around the shoulders as I'm instantly gripping him around his waist.

"Harry." The relief in my voice is made more pronounced by the air he pushes out of my lungs with his tight hold.

I close my eyes and press my ear against his chest, trying to calm my stomach flips. His heart is thudding quite quickly, he must've been running. I listen as it starts to calm, and feel his cheek rest on the top of my head. I think he might've murmured something but I can't be sure.

Still standing in each other's firm embrace, we're swaying just a little now. Crookshanks circles both of our legs like he's lashing us together at the ankles with an invisible rope. Harry laughs slightly and he finally lets me go as we both look down at the cat.

"You weren't kidding" he says. He bends to pat him and Crookshanks goes up on his hind legs for more, his purring ridiculously loud now.

I smile but actually I'm fighting the butterflies in my stomach; so frenetic they're starting to make me a little nauseous. I place my hand on my stomach to try and quell them.

He looks up at me then. "You okay?"

I nod and smile. "I didn't realise...I didn't know.."

He straightens up fully and goes to reach for me I think, but then lets his arm swing down to his side. "It was...unexpected. I didn't have time to owl you."

That reminds me of my discarded drafts littering the floor around me and I turn and scramble to pick them up. I really wish I could use magic right now – it was make this job much quicker...and less embarrassing.

"I was just ..studying actually.."

To make it worse, Crookshanks thinks I've decided to play with him and starts batting them around again. I try and gather them but I'm too slow for the cat who taps one straight over to Harry's boot. Harry stoops to pick it up, and to my mortification, starts to unravel the crumpled parchment.

"No!" I clamp my hands over his with the paper in it. He glances at me surprised. "It's...personal".

He looks at me for a second then nods, handing the wad of parchment slowly over. "I'm sorry. And also... you know what I wrote you - about you having company, I really shouldn't... I never want to ...interrupt.

My eyebrows shoot up.

"You _don't_ need to worry about that." He stares at me, curious, for a moment. I get the feeling he wants to ask something but he doesn't. I shake my head emphatically. "Don't ever not come here because of that. I'll kick whoever it is out before I'd turn you away."

He's still staring but a slow, brilliant smile cracks over his face.

"I'm sure that'd go down well." His face turns suddenly serious again. "I don't deserve you...you know that right?"

I don't know exactly what he's trying to say then, and I decide I don't want to. His eyes flicker to the fridge and I smile.

"Well, maybe not, but then who would eat all the food in my cupboards?"

That brings his smile back and I breathe out in relief. He pulls his jacket off as I watch, enjoying the movement of his arms too much.

"So, the Appleby Arrows?"

I grin and relax into talking about Ron, then Luna, warmly happy that the subject is no longer taboo between us. I still carefully avoid any mention of Ginny, although I'm not really sure if that is for his or my sake.

He looks good. Healthy, tanned – his eyes are bright green. It makes me wonder if that's due to Angie or not. I shake off the thought.

"Arthur said Kreacher showed him your latest note."

Harry nods, his expression a bit glum. "Yeah. Thought that was the best thing to do."

Last week Kreacher had reported another brief note left on the table at Grimmauld Place in Harry's handwriting. I don't know if Capella brought it or if Harry had actually been there – work had been keeping me too busy to call in much.

It had caused much the same reaction as last time, though slightly more muted.

 _Hope everyone is well._

 _I'm happy where I am. I don't know when or if I'll be back. It's really much better if I stay away._

 _Take care. Harry._

Ron had shown it to me. I tried to pretend it hurt, but I was really happy just to see anything that proved he still...existed. That he was alive and well and the possibility he might turn up any day was real.

Now as I watch him eat, looking so comfortable at my dining room table, I realise I feel restless and upset, instead of the joy I was expecting. Now he's here, it just means I'm now on edge waiting for him to let me know when he's going to leave again. I decide to rip the plaster off so to speak.

"When?"

He looks up and his face falls a little.

"First thing in the morning."

I smile a smile that I can feel doesn't touch my eyes. He pushes his plate away.

"I shouldn't have come."

"What?"

"I shouldn't be doing this."

He pushes up abruptly and my throat closes over as he slides his jacket back on. I want to tell him no, stop but my voice isn't working yet. So I put my hand out and catch his arm. He stills, just looking at me. I finally choke out what I want to say.

"Stay. Don't be silly." I clear my throat. "Don't be silly Harry" I say again, a little stronger now.

He's staring down at me, his expression guarded. When he speaks, it's soft and low.

"You're not hearing me. I'm not good for you."

I want to scream at him that the only thing that's good for me is him. That this is the only thing I know, truly know, lately. Instead I do something equally ludicrous.

"Come on." I grasp his hand and lead him into the kitchen. I can tell he's still itching to leave but I feel a strange calm settle over me. I reach up to the cupboard over the fridge and pull out a new, unopened bottle of premium tequila. I don't look at him until after I grab a lemon and cut it into wedges, and retrieve the salt from the shelf over the oven.

When I finally look at him, he's watching me with a half amused, half doubtful look on his face. I grab his wrist.

"Lick."

"You're not serious."

"Why on earth wouldn't I be serious? Really Harry, I thought you'd be harder to shock than this." I glance pointedly at the tattoos covering the arm I'm holding.

He laughs – a warm sound, then reclaims his arm to pull it out of his jacket, which he chucks on a dining room chair. He holds the arm out again, after licking the inside of his wrist.

I grin and shake some salt on the spot he's just dampened. I do the same to myself then hand him one of the shot glasses and a wedge of lemon.

"What happened to a nice quiet glass of wine." He says it like he's speaking to himself.

"Well – if we weren't so _pressed for time_..."

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling. I sigh.

"I just want to ...really spend time with you. Not just the whole quick supper, shower, sleep – I just want some real time together."

He raises his glass. "To 'real' time together then."

I clink mine with his and we both lick the salt off our wrists before we chuck the tequila down our throats simultaneously. I watch him through squinted eyes as we suck on the lemons and he grimaces but nods. "Good tequila."

I grab the bottle and salt and head over to the couch, sitting cross legged on the floor once I see he's bringing over the lemons.

I switch the tv to a music channel and take my jumper off, it's warm and I have a thin strapped singlet on underneath. I start filling the shot glasses again.

"So what can you tell me about what you've been up to."

He smiles at that, and then sits on the floor too – his back against the couch and his legs stretched out in front. He bends to his ankle and dismantles his gun as he talks.

"Uh... well I've been building."

"Building?"

"You know – houses. Doing a few hours while the weather's good."

I nod. Well that explains the tan maybe. "Do you like it?"

He smiles, a genuine one. "I love it."

"That's good."

We sit, drinking, talking, dancing around the edge of the things he doesn't want to disclose. And it's perfect, it's everything I wanted. Just a moment outside of all the cloak and dagger – to just pretend for a few hours that we have no secrets, no worries. And that's exactly what happens. I don't know if we've ever been like this, ever.

He looks relaxed, telling me a story about one of his builder friends who always fails to pull girls, but not for lack of trying. I'm in hysterics and he's animated, using his hands as he talks and laughing; I don't get so caught up in his story that I don't notice the lively light in his eyes. He looks genuinely happy – for the first time since...forever.

He delivers his punch line and I fall on the ground laughing. He's laughing too as he pours us two new glasses. He places the bottle on the coffee table and then reaches over his head to drag his t shirt up and off, he has a black singlet underneath. It's distracting, and my laugh falters a bit but I pull myself up and sit next to him, my back against the couch too.

"Oh god, he seems like he'd make Neville look like a regular Lothario." I laugh as he carefully passes my glass.

"To Neville." He looks very serious for a moment. It makes me laugh.

"To Neville...Looongbottom."

He tries to keep the serious face but he can't. I start to giggle.

He grabs hold of my wrist. "Longbottom. Who came _up_ with that name?"

I laugh shaking my head. I've got a serious attack of the giggles now and would fall over again if he wasn't holding my wrist. He reaches across us to grab the salt.

"Hold still!"

I try to stop laughing so I can lick my wrist. But instead he does it for me.

I stop laughing immediately, though my smile is still frozen wide on my face. The cool air crosses the inside of my wrist where his warm tongue has just been and I try to ignore the waves of heat it sends through me in that instant.

He carries on oblivious, shaking salt on the spot. I concentrate on the wedge of lemon he's handing me now.

"To Neville Loooongbottom" I attempt, pleased to hear my voice coming out steady.

"To every Longbottom, I think."

We drink and I realise distantly that it doesn't sear my throat as much as earlier. The lemon is still sour though and I spend a few seconds screwing my face up against it. While my eyes are closed, I pick up on the song on tv.

"Ooh – I love this! I turn around and search through bleary eyes for the volume buttons. "Do do do do..." I know I must be drunk if I'm actually singing now. Harry doesn't seem to care, he sits back watching me and smiling, tapping the coffee table with his fingers.

"Who's this again?"

"The Kooks."

 _Say whatever you want  
Oh, I could never judge you  
Say whatever comes into your head _

Yup I'm surely drunk because I might even be dancing a bit. Crookshanks stares at me in disgust and I go to pick him up to dance with him, but he bolts away. It doesn't stop me.

' _Cause I'm always where I need to be  
Yeah, and I always thought I would end up  
with you, eventually_

I suspect I should be embarrassed – and enough rational thought breaks through to make me sit down again, flopping myself down beside him.

He's just smiling though, and even sings along with the 'Do do do's'.

I laugh again, throwing my head back onto the couch behind. When I sit back up he's staring at me.

"Did you ever think we'd end up together? I mean, did it ever..."

He stops, and I can see he immediately regrets saying that out loud. Through the haze I think I recognise that he might've just broken one of his own rules. He's never bought up 'me and him' before. I know it makes him uncomfortable. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to tell him it's okay, that he doesn't need to worry about me. I notice his skin is really warm.

"No."

His mortification eases a bit at that, but it changes to something else, something I don't recognise. I carry on.

"I knew you weren't...you didn't ever think of me like that." The alcohol has loosened my tongue. "I never entertained 'delusional thoughts'." I laugh self depreciatingly.

He's watching me, and I notice his face is quite close. I can't seem to stop talking now.

"I mean yeah, there was all that stuff with Rita and Viktor but I always knew I was never...I mean I was never your type." I laugh again but it sounds hollow and weird and his scrutiny is getting to me. "I'm no Cho Chang!"

He looks serious now and I lean across to pour another drink just for something to do. "I was never very pretty."

I cringe inwardly; I can't believe I actually just said that.

"Hermione!" He grabs my wrist but this time it's not for the salt. He pulls me to look in his face which is still too close. "You don't really think that."

"No, you're right – sorry, that was stupid" I mumble, trying to avoid eye contact again.

"You're beautiful. You always have been but now you...you're this...this gorgeous woman."

He stops, but he looks all bothered and urgent, frowning. "And if I or anyone else didn't recognise that then _we're_ the idiots. You're not the stupid one." He trails off.

I catch his eyes now and he's looking so troubled that I rest a hand on his face.

"It's alright; you don't have to say that."

His eyes wander down to my lips and a warmth floods through me as I start to imagine he might even...

Crookshanks barrels right into us, jumping square on my lap, so hard he nearly knocks me back.

"Crookshanks!" He glares up at me, and I stare back at him confused, then glance back at Harry who's looking away now, grabbing the glasses.

"One more, for the road."

"You're not staying?"

"It's three in the morning."

"You can't go anywhere like that. Sleep, just a few hours."

He nods and we take the last drink though it's like we're both somehow more sober than before.

I go about getting ready for bed, trying to figure out what just happened but I'm too foggy from the drink. I have enough presence of mind to arrange my clothes for easy access in the morning. I drink some water and take some Anti Hangover potion – I need my wits about me.

He takes a shower while I set up on the armchair with a blanket, watching but not seeing anything on tv. I must fall asleep because next thing I know Harry's hand is on my head. I keep my eyes closed and then I feel his breath on my temple as he moves to place a kiss on my forehead. His fingers move in my hair for a second, beforeI feel him cross to the sofa. He turns off the tv and lies down.

"Harry" I say into the stillness.

"Yeah"

"Wake me up"

"Before I go go?"

I snort a laugh. "Yes. Please."

"Alright. Hey."

I peer over my blankets at him then, and he's half sitting up, looking over at me.

"Thanks. I had fun tonight. Haven't for a while."

I smile, controlling the urge to go over to him. "You're welcome. I had fun too. Sorry, though."

"What about?"

"The shit singing."

He laughs and lies back. "It wasn't that bad. Well, okay it was bad..."

I throw a cushion without seeing if it hits its mark.

"Good night."

"Night."

"Hermione."

He shakes me gently awake though I've been on the fringes of waking for a while now. I heard him get up, heard the click and rip of the gun being put back together and strapped on to his ankle again as he gets ready to leave. That particular sound makes me more determined not to fail this time.

"I gotta go."

I rub my eyes. He crouches down beside my chair, leaning his face on his arm.

"Should I bother to ask when you'll be back?"

"No."

I reach out and brush his cheek with my finger.

"Write me then, okay? Crookshanks will be beside himself."

He smiles and bites his lip. He looks like he's going to say something but he doesn't – just squeezes my arm and stands up.

"Look after yourself."

"You too."

He strides to the door and lifts a hand to wave.

I wave back. "See you soon."

He stops at the door for a moment and looks back at me. Then he pulls it open and is gone.

It's quite cold on the street this morning. The clouds look undecided; a bluish grey colour, like they could go either way.

I gather the cloak around my body; making sure it's covering me. I wonder absently how the three of us ever did fit under this together.

I see his back disappear around the corner and I pick up my pace to a jog to keep up. I'm quicker with my plan this morning, calmer. I left the house not long after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Come Undone

Chapter Five

* * *

 _When everything inside you knows_

 _There's more than what you've heard_

 _There's so much more than empty conversations_

 _Filled with empty words._

* * *

I hold my breath when I watch him pause at the corner, and breathe out in relief when he turns towards the tube station. I quicken my step to catch up.

I hold back while he buys a ticket. He glances around every now and then, casually. Even though I know he can't see me, I still automatically pull behind a column or something when he turns in my direction, scared he'll sense me, I think.

He doesn't though, and I'm soon scraping through the double doors of the subway train after him, just before they close. It's early enough that the trains aren't crazy busy yet, though I can feel the pace building – another half an hour and it'd be hard for me not to touch anyone.

He leans forward on his knees, staring at the ground as the train sways through the underground tunnels. I sit opposite watching him, though he barely moves. I think only I could notice how he gets slightly more tense across the shoulders, the more stops we pass.

Finally he stands, holding on to the pole with one hand, his other in his pocket. He looks around the compartment, and I feel guilty – knowing how mad he'd be if he knew I was following.

But he doesn't, and I hurry to follow him as he gets off at the next stop, weaving through the thickening crowd.

I keep his black jacket in sight, careful not to knock into anyone. I have to jog to keep up, he walks fast.

Up on the street he moves faster still and I almost lose him twice. I realise for the first time that we're in quite an affluent area, we pass an elite department store before we round a corner into a street of beautiful homes, all worth around a million pounds to my estimation. I get a sense we're almost at our destination so I hurry to get closer. Luckily for me he stops and bends his head for a moment.

I catch up and realise he's sheltering his hands around a cigarette. He's lighting a cigarette?

I recover from my surprise as he starts walking again, then turns instantly up the steps into the next house. I follow him up, as close as I can, praying my feet are quiet enough on the flagstone.

He unlocks the front door and steps in and I slide myself sideways to get through with him before he closes the door.

I have to push myself hard against the sideboard in the entranceway while he stops short, listening and looking up the stairs directly in front of us.

It's a beautiful house, grand with tall ceilings and expensive furnishings from what I can see.

I hold still, trying to minimise my breathing. I watch his eyes; he looks agitated as he keeps staring up the staircase. Finally he seems satisfied to move, slowly and quietly climbing up the stairs.

I follow his lead, marvelling at the luxurious surroundings. I don't know what kind of building he's doing, but it definitely pays well.

I'm so busy doing that, I miss when he turns into the first bedroom in the hall. Too late I notice; he shuts the door behind him with a quiet click.

I curse under my breath. I turn in circles in the hallway for a moment, wondering what to do next. The door remains shut, so after a time, I walk gingerly down the hall.

The house is large for an inner city house, I can tell. There's a number of rooms off the hall, the one at the end is open.

A young dark haired man lies on the bed, clad only in jeans. Both his skinny arms and his chest and stomach are covered in coloured tattoos, a collection over time by the looks of it. He is sprawled diagonally across the bed, fast asleep. A noise issues from the bathroom, a muffled voice. I wait, glancing back at Harry's door from my position in the hall.

Suddenly a very slim girl of medium height pokes her head out of a door that's obviously an en suite.

"Fletch? I was..." She steps out, peering at him. She's clad in only a bra and lace briefs, both black, with her hair twisted up in a white towel. "Shit" she mutters, and then pauses, before crossing the room to the dresser. She digs in the pockets of a jacket hanging over the chair there, keeping an eye on the sleeping man all the time.

She doesn't find what she's looking for it appears, but grabs a cigarette and a lighter from a small table by the door. Then she strides out of the room.

I follow her down the hall, watching how she naturally exaggerates the sway of her hips. She stops at the door Harry entered and taps lightly.

"Jamie?" Her voice is quiet, hopeful. She taps a bit louder.

She's just about to walk off when the door opens. I step closer.

Harry stands in the doorway, shirtless, with just his boxers on.

"Alright?"

The girl's face softens. I look at her properly now.

She's pretty, with dark and large doe-like eyes. She's looking at Harry with unmistakeable affection.

"Yeah. Just wanted to see if you were home."

Her voice is a soft, Irish brogue.

"Got in late. Any news?"

"No, Fletch and Seth are back okay too. I'm glad you're back."

Harry smiles slightly. She touches his arm. "Get some more sleep." He doesn't seem to flinch that she's standing there in her underwear.

He watches her turn and then walks back into the room, thankfully leaving the door open slightly. I squeeze sideways to follow him in.

He falls face first on the bed, his arms wide.

I look around the room. It's sparse, there's just basic furniture, a few clothes draped here and there, a plasma screen on the wall.

I look back at the bed and realise he's turned onto his back and is staring at the ceiling. I watch him for a moment, enjoying just observing him as he lifts his arm, and absently rubs his wrist, over the tattoo of the time turner. His expression is soft.

Then it changes. He pushes up slowly onto his elbows and looks around the room with narrowed eyes.

I freeze and watch as he waits a moment, then sits up fully, pulling himself to the edge of the large bed.

He cocks his head as if listening for something. Then he strides across the room, closes the door, leans against it, and does the last thing I expect him to do.

"Hermione."

He says my name.

I can't move.

He steps away from the door.

"I know you're here."

He walks toward the centre of the room, his arms outstretched.

I back towards the wall, ready to evade him as long as I can.

"I can smell your perfume. I know you're here," he says again.

I can hear the certainty in his voice. I pull the cloak slowly from my face.

He stares at me as I materialise as if wanting to disbelieve his own eyes. I feel terrible, ashamed for spying on him, but part of me feels justified and happy that I might get to the bottom of all this. But as I watch, his frown deepens and I lose hope that he's not just going to turf me out on the street.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing.."

His voice is quiet but menacing; I find myself wishing he'd yell.

I shake my head.

He carries on in the same quiet voice. "Do you even _know..._ do you have ANY idea what you've just done?"

I feel a twinge of anger in my gut and I grasp on to it.

"No Harry, I don't. Because if you remember rightly, I'm completely in the dark. I don't know who these people are, or what the hell you're doing, so how the bloody hell would I?"

A male voice on the other side of the door startles us both.

"Jamie?"

Harry whips his head around to the closed door. I go to throw the cloak on again and he turns and gestures frantically at me. I think he's telling me not to. I just freeze in confusion.

"Alright? Gripper's on his way. Wants to talk."

Harry clasps his hands on top of his head and squeezes his eyes shut tight, swearing silently. When he opens his eyes and speaks though, his voice is completely calm.

"Yeah. Be out in a sec."

"Got someone in there yeah...?"

He closes his eyes again and rubs his face.

"Fuck off Seth."

I hear a low chuckle gradually grow more distant as it moves away from the door.

Then he hurries towards me.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." He's looking me up and down, and then he does the strangest thing. He reaches for my ponytail and drags the hair tie out.

"Hey!"

"Shhh. We haven't got much time. You're going to have to trust me okay?" He's still looking at my hair as he shakes it out. "Take those shoes off."

I stare at him incredulous.

"Now!"

I do as he says. "And the socks. Go barefoot."

He looks at my jacket, then tugs at my t shirt. "Have you got anything under that?"

"No, just a camisole."

He lifts up my top and looks. I'd be outraged if I wasn't so stunned.

"Perfect. Take this off." He tugs at my t shirt.

"Do you mind telling me what this is about?"

He looks me in the eye, finally. Then he grabs me by the shoulders and speaks low and quick.

"I don't have enough time. I'll come and explain, but for now, you just please have to trust me and do what I say. Okay? Do you trust me?"

I look into his eyes and nod curtly.

"Good. Listen carefully."

He yanks my jacket off and tugs my t shirt up and off me before I can react. He nods in approval at me standing there in my bra and camisole and then grabs my shoulders again.

"You came home with me last night; I picked you up at a bar. It's the first time we've ever met. My name is Jamie, that's all you know. You were pretty drunk, now you're catching a cab home."

He grabs my jacket and bundles my shoes and t shirt in it.

"But why...I could just apparate..."

"No." He says it forcefully and moves to grab my wand from my jeans pocket. He dumps my jacket on the bed and rips the lining, tucking the wand in there and then bundling it back up. I'd protest, but this is all happening so quickly, and really, I do trust him. I stand and wait.

"No magic, whatsoever okay? Not until you're well away from this house. Don't even think _thoughts_ about magic - okay?"

He looks really uneasy. He picks up the Invisibility Cloak off the floor and looks around hurriedly, settling on digging it deep into his closet.

"I'll get rid of that later."

"Harry I don't..."

"I'm Jamie. Alright? Or James. You're...Jean. Jane's a little obvious." The closest thing to a smile he can manage steals across his face. He's really worried, I can feel it. I nod.

"Jean."

He drags on some jeans and a t shirt. "Alright. Try just to slip out. Don't talk to anyone. Leave as soon as you can and get far away."

He turns then and walks to the door.

"H- James?"

He spins to look at me. "Give it fifteen minutes. Then leave." He presses his lips together and grabs the door handle but turns back. "I'll contact you soon, I promise. I'm sorry."

He looks me up and down appraisingly. Then he offers a half smile that has no warmth in it at all and leaves me alone.

I look at the bedside alarm clock to keep time. I sit on the bed for a bit, smoothing my hand over the dark cover. It seems clean; the whole room is cleaner than Ron's room, almost as clean as mine. I lie back on the bed.

It smells like him. I close my eyes, try to order my thoughts.

What the hell is going on? Why did he just undress me, why do I have to call him Jamie? I'm so frustrated and itching to work it out- but he really was worried then, I could tell. I had to trust him without knowing anything – something I already knew I could do.

I run my arms over the bedspread and can't stop myself thinking if he spends his nights alone or with company in here. Maybe with the Underwear girl. The thought makes me push away from the bed and explore the room.

There's a small bathroom attached. I turn on the light in there and turn on the tap to splash some water on my face.

I dry my face on a towel hanging by the door and look at myself in the mirror.

I look different. My hair is a bit fluffy; I dampen my hands and run them through the curls. The camisole is actually passable as a top; I've never noticed that before. With heels on and a bit of makeup, I really could've come from a club. It wasn't my usual look, but I had to admire his styling.

I look around the bathroom a bit, it's clean also. I don't snoop too much though; I'm feeling too guilty and anxious now to go rifling through his stuff. I go and sit back on the bed to wait.

Five more minutes pass and I give up the war within myself about opening his beside drawer.

I wish I hadn't.

Under a magazine, there's another gun in there. Black, and much bigger than the other. Plus a box of condoms. I shut it quickly with a bang.

I tap my foot impatiently and decide I'll just go.

I grab my bundle and creep out the door.

My bare feet grow cold on the floor, it's all tile. I pad down the stairs, listening for noise, but not hearing any.

I make it to the front door and sigh in relief, reaching a hand for the doorknob.

It clicks open before I can touch it and swings towards me.

I stumble back and stare up into a pair of the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. They're amused, as they look me up and down, the thick black eyebrows above are raised.

"Hello."

I try and smile though I feel instantly cold. He's not particularly tall, though he is stocky, but something about him is just instantly menacing, even though he expression is fairly open and warm.

"Hi" I mumble. I try and scoot past him but he moves imperceptibly to block my way.

"You going?"

I nod and try a half smile. "I have to go."

I hear footsteps behind me and turn to see Harry coming towards us. He doesn't look at me at all, just stares at the man beside me.

"Jamie. This yours?" He gestures at me.

Harry nods, and still doesn't look my way.

"Walk of shame huh?" The man smiles at me, then grabs my face by the chin. I feel a bit sick suddenly, but meet his eyes.

Then I feel it. The gentle probing of thought pervading my mind, like a wisp of smoke making its way into my brain.

Someone is trying to read my thoughts.

It could be Harry – that's my first thought. But it feels cold and suddenly I register the piercing blue of the man's eyes, staring into mine. But this man isn't a wizard...I'm almost sure of it.

Instinctively I throw up a mind block, as we've been taught to do in my Healers training. We've covered Legilimency and Occulmency in depth, always useful to know with Healing – particularly with unconscious patients; I've become quite adept at it.

The man frowns at me, but lets my face go. He makes an amused noise, and then grabs my arm.

I look at Harry, who is watching me now, his expression cloudy. Someone clears their throat loudly.

"Taking out the trash?"

I turn to see the girl walking down the steps, clothed now, if you could call it that, in a black midriff top and low cut, tight jeans. Her heels click on the floor as she approaches, her thickly made up face twisted in disgust.

"Now don't be like that Angie."

 _This_ is Angie?

"Our guest is joining us for breakfast."

She glares at me in distaste but says nothing further, walking past us down the hall from where Harry just came.

"Jamie – you don't mind?"

I expect Harry to come up with something, an excuse, an alibi for me. Instead he stuns me by shrugging his shoulders, his face indifferent.

"Good. What's your name?"

I hesitate, then remember. "Jean."

"Jean and James. Cute." His voice is raspy, like a heavy smokers, and something about it makes me feel uneasy. "I'm Warren."

He drops my arm as the three of us walk down the hall.

"Don't mind Angie. She's just jealous."

I nod, still a bit dazed at the turn of events.

We walk into a bright open plan room at the end of the hall, kitchen, dining and lounge in one. The furnishings are white and minimalist, sleek and modern.

The guy I'd seen asleep is sitting at the table, clothed in a tight black t shirt and jeans now, I recognise him from his bright tattoos on his arms. He reads the paper, his fingers curled around a hot mug, but it freezes mid air as he stares at me through the steam. His brown eyes narrow and he frowns, watching me openly.

Another light haired guy lies across the broad couch in the lounge, playing a guitar that's lying on his stomach. He looks up at us as we enter then sits up, his handsome face curious. His eyes dart from Harry to me to Warren.

"This is Jean. She's having breakfast with us."

Every face changes expression except Harry's but no one speaks. I get then that whatever Warren says, goes.

"Angie, fix us a cuppa?"

She stops glaring long enough to start organising a percolator of coffee.

Warren gestures at the guy reading the paper.

"Fletch. And that's Seth." He thumbs towards the guy with the guitar who smiles brightly and waves. I can't help but smile back. Angie roughly dumps the coffee and cups in front of us. Warren doesn't flinch, and addresses the room.

"Anything to report?"

Fletch glares pointedly at me. Warren shakes his head.

"She's alright."

"Gripper..."

"I said she's alright."

Harry speaks up.

"We're still good. Chubbs is good to go."

Warren nods, happy. "Seth?"

The young guy leaves the guitar on the couch and pulls a chair from the table, sitting on it backwards, still watching me.

"No problems I can see. Still want some more time on it though."

"You've got it. Fletch?"

He shakes his head, his expression still dark. "Something's not right. I don't like it."

Warren rolls his eyes and grunts. Then he looks at me. "Coffee?"

Something tells me to accept. "Thanks."

He watches me too closely as I stir the milk in.

"All right. I'll be back tonight to go through more." He points at Fletch as he stands up. "If it's not right – I wanna know why."

Fletch glowers at the table in front of him, I realise he looks a bit like a ferret.

"Do you want a ride somewhere?"

Warren's looking at me again.

"Uh no, I'm fine, thanks."

"It's no problem."

I feel like I can't refuse, and Harry's face gives nothing away when I look at him. Warren takes my silence for agreement.

"Great. I'll drop you home. Let's go."

There's a cold and noticeable tension in the air. I glance at Harry; he's looking at the ground but shakes his head minutely, the action barely noticeable. I say the first thing that comes to my head.

"Actually – I've gotta go straight to work, or I'm gonna be late." I giggle –and though inwardly I cringe, my instincts are telling me to dumb myself down. "So embarrassing. Lucky I work at a clothing shop – I can get some fresh clothes for the day!"

Warren and Seth are smiling at me, Fletch still sneering to himself and if Angie's look could kill, I'd be Avada Kadavra-ed where I stood. But Harry has the slightest curve to his lips and I think I'm playing it right.

I stand and so does Warren, his fingers lightly graze my back as we make our way to the door. We pass Harry.

"Bye Jamie."

He smiles and winks lightly and looks nothing like my Harry. We head off down the hallway and I feel like a lamb to the slaughter.

Outside, I blink at the harsh light; it's already quite warm out. There's a wide black car right in front that wasn't there previously, and Warren ushers me to the passenger door and opens it for me. The gentleman act seems genuine enough but there is something unsettling about this guy, no doubt.

He pulls out fast, as soon as the engine roars to life.

"So, where did you meet our Jamie?"

"A bar."

"Which one?"

I giggle, feigning a flush. "I can't remember. I was a bit off my head."

Warren frowns but he's smiling, eyes flicking from the road to me.

"Well, you did alright with Jamie. He's a good lad."

"He is?"

"I trust him."

He says the words with such conviction, I forget the danger I felt. "How did you meet him?"

"Where do you want to go?" He seems to ignore my question. I scan my brain quickly and come up with a high street fashion store, far from my house. He nods, and I try and dig for information again.

"So, do all you guys live there together?"

Warren nods. "They're like...my brothers. I own that place, and I let them stay." The pride in his voice is obvious.

"Oh wow – it's really nice."

We stop at the lights and he turns to me. His eyes lock with mine, and _again_ I feel it, a slight nudging of my brain as if something is trying to pry around again. I keep my mind blank and my expression neutral. Finally he speaks.

"You're welcome to come back again, if you like."

I don't know what the right answer to that is, and luckily the light changes and we take off again.

"So, what do you do?"

He doesn't take his eyes off the road. "Construction."

We pull up outside the shop. I squeeze my bundle close to my chest as he looks at it.

"Are you sure you don't need to go home for clothes?"

I laugh, as sincerely as I can. "No, I've got stuff here. It's my own fault isn't it."

He smiles, but his eyes are steely. "Do we have your number?"

My throat constricts and so I nod. "Mmm, Yes. Jamie does."

"Ok. Well, hope to see you soon." He leans across me to open the door.

"Sure. Thanks for the ride."

"Any time."

I walk towards the shop, watching his car behind me in the reflection of the window. It doesn't make any move to pull out, but sits there, squatting by the sidewalk like a watchdog. So I enter the just opened shop and head straight for the change rooms, grabbing something at random off the racks on the way. I stay in the cubicle for maybe ten minutes, not moving, just going over the morning in my head. It's like a badly made jigsaw puzzle; I can't seem to make anything fit. Finally I creep out, ignoring the sales girl who's staring at me strangely. I peer through the shop to the street, and breathe out audibly.

The black car is gone.

 _H_

 _I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to cause you trouble, I just wanted to know where you were – that you weren't in danger._

 _I'm not sure what I found out._

 _It's been two days. Will you come back? Or are you too mad?_

 _Please at least write. Me and the BGC wait._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _Lyrics credit: On Fire by Switchfoot._


	6. Chapter 6

Come Undone

Chapter Six

Thank you for following and the reviews :)

* * *

 _Strain this chaos, turn it into light_

 _I've got to see you one last night._

* * *

Luna is too good a friend to me. I find her presence soothing and helpful – though I don't know what she gets from me. I used to find her vaguely irritating a while back. Now, I hang out with her the most I think.

She's been my only comfort this last week. She'll come around after work for a wine and we just sit, she doesn't feel the need to talk much. I'm devastated at what happened and that I haven't heard from Harry yet. And just when I think I'm handling it, she catches me off guard.

"I know something's wrong with you."

I stare at her and shake my head. "I don't know what you mean." She ignores me and continues.

"All I know is that it's something about Harry."

I'm rocked; I actually feel a little faint.

"Wha..."

"You're only ever this upset when it's about Harry. And I know you've been seeing him."

I make a goldfish mouth at her for a bit then I give up, staring at my feet. My face is hot. She goes on.

"But you don't have to tell me about it. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't."

I stare but she just sighs and continues. "He's alive. And he's still speaking to you. That's good."

I shake my head at her, flabbergasted, and finally find my voice.

"To think. I used to think I knew more than you." I shake my head, truly ashamed. "I was so wrong."

"No." She smiles serenely. "You just don't believe in anything you can't see. That's not wrong. That's just the way you are."

Vaguely I recognise that tears are spilling from me. "I don't know what I believe anymore."

She hugs me, warm and genuine – her hugs always are.

"That's okay. You don't need to believe. You only need to trust."

I don't understand what she means, but I accept her hug all the same. And it makes me feel better that someone knows now, even if it's only a little.

 _H_

 _I'm not mad. It's my fault anyway._

 _I'll come and see you – at least one more time. I shouldn't, but I figure I owe you that. I just can't tell you when. But soon, one night soon._

 _I'm really sorry too._

 _H_

My work suffers again.

It's been a week and all I can do is run through the clues pointlessly in my head.

They didn't know Harry is a wizard. All of them are muggles, I think. But there was the strange invasion of my mind when I was there, and just an odd vibe around the house, particularly about Warren.

I feel cold when I think of Warren. There's just something... 'off' about him.

I tap my quill against my temple, sitting at the desk of the ward I'm interning at this week. Then I hear another tapping, at the window.

My stomach flips as I recognise Capella. I hurry to let her in – even though I'm not really supposed to in the hospital.

I notice dread coiling in my stomach and I almost don't want to open the note she carries.

 _H_

 _I don't know if you'll get this in time, but can you make it to number 12 tonight?_

 _I'll be there late, if you can._

 _If not, I'll be in touch soon._

 _H_

Kreacher keeps scraping the grate, stoking the fire vigorously _again_ even though I've told him a number of times that Harry won't arrive by floo. The shrill noise is grinding on my already frail nerves, but I say nothing, continuing to stare into the amber flames, waiting.

It's nearly midnight, but I don't feel at all tired. Harry might be coming and I might have the answers to my ceaseless questions, soon. I could stay awake all night if I needed to.

The room is incredibly warm and I stand up to check my flushed face in the mirror above the fireplace. My hair is out and floating around my bare shoulders; I drag the strap of my singlet up again - it keeps falling down. I heave an irritated sigh and check the clock – again -pushing my hands through my hair impatiently.

Then finally there's a stomping of footsteps in the hall.

I turn to the door and wait, shoving my hands in the back pockets of my jeans.

His eyes seek me out straight away and hold my gaze, the green so clear from even this far across the room that it's all I can do not to run to him. I press my hands deeper into my pockets to stop the impulse, keeping my expression neutral.

He gazes intensely for a moment longer, and then to my relief he smiles. A smile that's small and sad, but a smile nonetheless and I let go of a breath I had no idea I was holding.

"Hi."

I want to reply but I can't speak for a moment, I'm so relieved and hurt and ashamed all at once. He greets Kreacher and accepts the drink the house elf gives him, downing half the cold beer before putting it down and shrugging out of his jacket. I just sit there watching him, willing myself not to be weak – not to give in to the tears threatening me for god knows what reason.

He walks over to me and he appears relaxed, but I can feel some inner tension, coiled inside of him like a spring. There's no warm hug; no urgent embrace this time. That makes me feel so cold I nearly shiver, even though I'm standing right next to the fire. I watch as he lowers himself gingerly to sit on the edge of the sofa.

The scene reminds me so vividly of the day before he left that first time – when I first saw his hair short - that I flinch, remembering the empty echo that followed the many months after that night.

"Hi." I finally manage to say something, to distract my thoughts I think.

He stares at his beer bottle, choosing his words I suppose.

"So, I guess I've got some explaining to do."

That wakes me from my stupor a bit. I frown and shake my head, my hand up. "I'm the one who should be explaining."

He smiles bitterly, taking another drink. "No. I get why you did what you did. I probably would've done the same thing."

I wonder what to think about that – what he's just said, while I stare down at him; his forearms twitching as he turns the bottle between his hands. He wears a black t shirt with some kind of skull design on the front and I blanch at the irony of that. Something that so resembles the Death Eaters Dark Mark would have never made its way into a wizards wardrobe. But that's what he looks like sitting there; so muggle. So human. At ease with his new life. And who was I to go snooping on that?

I cross gingerly to the sofa, and lower myself to perch on the edge too, alongside him.

"I'm so so sorry Harry. I should've just..."

"Hermione."

I look up and he's staring at me intently. He places his bottle at his feet and grasps my hands in his. They're cool, either from the outside air or the beer, I don't know. I worry about what he's going to say next, though his hands are calming me somewhat.

"I'm going to tell you what's going on. Okay? Maybe I should've from the start." He says the last almost as if to himself.

I meet his eyes and nod, readying myself. He looks at me for a moment, then around for Kreacher. "Do you want a drink?"

"...Is it that bad?"

He laughs lightly, and the sound makes the tight knot in my stomach loosen some. "I don't know, maybe. But, before I tell you..." He looks around the room, as if expecting to see someone else, like we might be overheard.

"This really is for you and you only." I nod, but he grips my hands tighter. "I have to insist on that."

I press my hand to my chest – stung that I might've damaged our trust irreparably now. "Of course – Harry...I promise."

His mouth twitches up at one edge. "It might be asking too much."

"You could never ask too much of me."

He looks me in the eyes and I hold his gaze, trying to convey my conviction. He nods slightly, then shifts to sit more comfortably on the sofa. I take this as a good sign and do the same. Kreacher brings me a drink and so we drop hands, Harry staring into the fire.

"You remember when I said I got that job. Last time we were...here." He gestures between the sofa and the fire and I wonder for a second if his recollection of that night is as sharp as mine. I doubt it. I nod, encouraging him.

"Well, it wasn't your typical 'job' as such."

"I'd been approached by a group – The Unit. That's all they're called."

"It's a group of wizards and witches who've vowed to ...prevent things. Prevent _bad_ things."

I shake my head, not understanding yet. He glances at me once, then back to the fire.

"They have a Seer amongst them. A good Seer – the best. She can track...possibilities. What's going to happen in the future – or what _could_ happen."

"If the possible consequences are dire enough, then The Unit take it upon themselves to change it. Change the future."

My eyes widen. "Tampering with the future?"

He screws his face up. "Adjusting it. Protecting it maybe."

I feel a ripple of apprehension pass through me. "For the greater good?"

He scowls at me then, the first time he's shown anger.

"Don't say that to me. It's not like that."

"What's it like then?"

He stands up, too agitated to sit still I think. "Tom Riddle. Imagine Hermione. If we could have contained him, from the very beginning. Imagine the lives that could've been saved."

I stare at my hands then, feeling his pain too acutely in that moment. I nod, so that he'll go on.

"That's what we do."

"There's muggles out there, who are born with magical ability. But they don't know – like me, like how I was. It hasn't been fostered; they have no idea of their capacity." He sits in front of me, grabbing my hands again, and I get that he needs me to understand this bit. I look at him.

"And they shouldn't ever find out."

My mouth drops open.

"You... you decide to deny them?"

His face looks weary, his eyes sad, but his jaw is clenched.

"Yes. Some people don't deserve it Hermione."

I bristle at that. "And who decides? Who decides who fits and who isn't good enough?"

He drops my hands then but stays seated. "We do."

I nod, still not calm.

"Harry. If that isn't "For the Greater Good"...then I don't know what is."

He leans back into the sofa, pushing his hands over his face and locking them over his head, staring at the ceiling.

"I knew you'd be like this."

"Be like what? Reasonable? It's not up to us to say who can and can't join the magical world! It's playing God!"

He stares at me, his eyes dark. "I wish. I wish I could play God. Then I could've stopped Riddle becoming what he became, I could still have... we could all have a different life. A good life. What part of Tom Riddle deserved to have magical ability? Tell me that."

My mouth opens, but I can't find words to speak. I stare at the fire.

"I just...it sounds flawed Harry."

He sighs and leans forward. "It is. And it isn't. Not everyone is for it."

"Does the Ministry know?"

He shakes his head. "Only certain parts of it. It's in constant debate." He takes another drink. "At the moment, I think they just run with the idea that ignorance is bliss."

He looks so much older in that moment and I reach out to touch his arm. He continues, still looking into the fire.

"In fact, it was a muggle initiative. The Prime Minister set up a committee after the carnage Voldemort caused and this was a possibility they approached us with. So that's part of the controversy I guess." He glances at me. "But I believe in it 'Mione. It's always felt hopeless to me; that there'll always be another Riddle and we just have to wait for him to emerge once he's too powerful for us to stop him. Or her. If we can anticipate it, then I think we should do that."

"Then why you. Why do you have to do it?"

He smiles a humourless smile.

"Because I perfectly fit the candidate criteria to work undercover. No family. No ties. A knowledge of the muggle world. And the testing was... it felt like it was what I was born to do."

"I scored perfect scores in almost everything. I was strong enough, quick enough, the weapons training - _everything_ they taught me felt...easy."

I interrupt.

"You said almost everything."

I'm not sure, but the colour seems to drain from his face.

"What?"

" _Almost_ everything. What did you fail on?"

He doesn't answer straight away; he actually manages to look awkward and annoyed at the same time. Then bizarrely, he smiles.

"Trust _you_ to pick up on that."

I have the decency to blush. "Just curious."

He considers. "I failed when they asked me if there was anyone I couldn't leave behind."

My eyes lock with his. I think of Ginny, her long red hair and get a vivid flashback of hers and Harry's first kiss. He's still staring at me and I try not to show my ridiculous jealously on my face.

"Ginny" I say, stronger than I expect.

He blinks. "Yeah."

I nod and look at my hands, twisting around each other. "But you did! Leave her behind. You still do, she's been really... She's not been well Harry."

His brow creases in concern and I think I might be breaking through to him. But he shakes his head.

"Hermione, you don't understand. Ginny was never in love with me."

"What? I've never _seen_ someone _more_ in love."

He smiles sadly. "No. She just thought she was."

"Well." I fold my arms, and I'm slightly perturbed by his attitude. "She STILL 'thinks' she is then."

He snorts. "She's in love with the idea of me. Trust me."

I frown, but decide to let it go. Then I realise something, so strongly that the thought forces me up and out of my chair.

"Warren. It's him, isn't it."

He smiles grimly at me, grudgingly impressed I think.

"Yes. It's him."

"He's a wizard?"

"Well, he could be. But they've been keeping an eye on him since he was a child. A sadistic child."

I feel that cold chill again, thinking about those blue eyes.

"The Unit prevented him from being approached by any magical school, from having any knowledge of our world. He is evil, Hermione. I've seen inside his mind."

I frown in confusion, but something is settling into place, making sense though I can't grasp what it is yet – like my mind is catching up with my instincts.

"The one talent that has come through in him, and is strong, _very_ strong, is that he's a gifted Legilimens. He can read minds, and sometimes block people reading his too."

It makes sudden sense. The cool probing of my mind when I was with him – he was trying to read me. Another realisation occurs.

"So how do you... how can _you_ get around that?" I don't mean to emphasis the 'you' but I do – thinking of Harry's disastrous private tutoring in Occulmency with Severus Snape all those years ago.

He actually laughs out loud at that, which should make me relieved, but the sound actually gives me a fright. He sees, and touches my arm, rubbing slightly.

"Sorry. You're just... you're so you." He shakes his head. "I got better at it. Much better."

"After everything with Riddle, when I went into Occulmency training, it was a piece of cake this time. Might've been because I didn't have Snape breathing down my neck too though." He smiles and then draws invisible quotations in the air with his fingers to underline his next words. "Apparently I'm 'exceptionally gifted' at it. Now."

I can't help but smile a bit. "That's...ironic."

He smiles back too, genuine. "Don't I know it."

My mind is whirling a million miles a minute, with all the new information. "So why no magic?"

He nods, expecting my question. "He's particularly sensitive to it - even the barest hint of it leaves an impression he picks up on. He gets antsy when he senses magic, though he has doesn't know what it is." He rubs his face and looks at the ground.

" And because without magic, the use of it, or magical objects, it's easier for me to sell that I'm James Dursley, just your typical muggle delinquent – illiterate, money hungry, happy to blindly do his bidding. That's why I had to remove it from my life."

Comprehension dawns, but it hurts – like we, his friends, were a tumour he had to remove. He glances up and I think he reads my face because he replies to my silent questions.

"It wasn't just that. I just... needed to get away. At least for a while. I kinda...fell apart for a bit there – after the War." He looks away again; his expression hard and I remember him, upstairs in this very house, the shell of my friend – bitter and angry. I nod, not wanting to talk about that now that he is here and relatively whole now.

"That's why I shouldn't be seeing you. The Unit don't know about that."

His voice is soft, low. He's stares at his empty bottle, twists it in his hands again. I don't know how to feel about what he just said. I settle on another question.

"So how long? How long will you follow him?"

"As long as it takes. I keep close to him, so that we know what he's up to. He's getting more powerful – one day we may have to ...contain him."

I stare at him, not recognising his cold tone of voice.

"Or not. He's not a good man either way Hermione. It's not like he runs a children's charity association."

I look at him, questioning.

"He's a drug dealer 'Mione. _The_ drug dealer – for this area anyway. One of the biggest. So he's ripping muggle lives apart at the moment as is."

My mouth has fallen open. "So you're...you..?"

He nods, curtly. "I've been a Transporter, Runner, Buyer, you name it. I'm not happy about it, but I've actually managed to save a few lives along the way. I do what I can."

I frown, not understanding what he's saying clearly, I feel a bit dizzy.

"So the tattoos – the gun..."

"Comes with the job really." He smiles cautiously at me. "It's part of the sell I guess. But he's mainly happy with what he sees in my mind. What I project to him at least. That's how he's been so successful. He can tell instantly if he can trust someone. I was welcomed in pretty quickly when he found me, and most of them accept that. Well except maybe Fletch."

I nod, remembering Fletch's rodent like face twisted in distrust.

"And the guns...well we have to carry them. For protection, intimidation. The Unit like me to carry at all times anyway. For if it ever goes bad."

My stomach clenches in worry at that. He sees, and places his hand on my temple, smoothing my frown lines with his thumb. He smiles softly.

"Don't worry. I keep myself safe."

"For how long" I murmur.

"Long enough. He'll slip up one day. Either with the muggle authorities, or with us. I just hope it's sooner rather than later."

I look away, as the reality of Harry living this half life for years settles in. He puts his hand on my knee.

"Does that... do you understand now, why you can't be a part of this?"

I bite my lip, only now remembering how close I came to spoiling everything for him. "I'm so sorry Harry."

He nods, and I know he's not mad – anymore.

"It's okay. As I say, it's my fault. I should never have come back."

I grip his arm, firmly.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. I couldn't...I wasn't coping. Without you."

He looks at me, solemn, then brushes my cheek. "You would've coped. You always do."

I just shake my head sadly.

"He was intrigued. By you. How did you stop him reading your mind?"

When I look back at him, he has a strange expression on his face. But I answer.

"Mind blocks – from Healing training. Turns out I'm 'exceptionally talented' at it too." I mirror his air quotations from before and he laughs.

"Yeah, like that's any surprise."

I flush at his veiled compliment. He doesn't see; he's rubbing his face with his hands.

"Ah I'm starving."

"God, you're worse than Ron these days."

He grins. "I know. I think it's the work - I really have been building too. Warren owns a company. It's a good cover, and when things are quiet, it gives me something to do. Seth thinks I'm mental. But I can't stay idle."

I nod; still overawed that he's been living this whole other life. Then I remember.

"So, Angie? Is she your ...girlfriend?"

My voice goes quieter, and fades out altogether on the last word. He catches it though, and watches me, slightly amused I think. He hesitates, then finally answers.

"No. She's sort of... Fletch's. Though she 'belongs' to Gripper -that's what they call Warren. It's complicated."

"Sounds it. She looked like she wanted to 'belong' to you." I curse myself; I didn't want to say that out loud.

He laughs softly. "Yeah well, there's that too."

I stand up, suddenly not wanting to hear more. "Come on. Let's eat."

We stare at the fire, full, sated, lost in our own thoughts. I've exhausted all my questions, dissecting every time he's been able to get away to see me. I understand now, how difficult it must have been, because the people he is living with have become an unofficial family in a way.

He cares for them, I can tell. His eyes have an unmistakable warmth when he speaks about Seth, and Angie. The relationship with Fletch is a little more strained but there all the same. So when he would come to see me, he had to lie to them – mainly pretending he'd had a one night stand, if they found him before he got back in. It was why he was often a bit tipsy – the best time was after parties or nights out.

My head hurt from all the thinking. I grabbed his arm absently, openly examining his tattoos now.

"Did this hurt?"

He gave me a sidelong glance that clearly meant 'What do you think?'. I nodded. "Ouch."

"Yeah."

"But these are all...wizard things. The Basilisk, Buckbeak. Weren't you scared that would expose you?"

He shook his head, looking at the designs too as I run my fingers over them.

"No. They're all muggle mythology symbols – not unusual subjects for tattoos." His smile was grim. "I didn't want to give away _every_ part of myself."

"And you just got them to...fit in?"

He shakes his head, watching my fingers on his arm. "It just happened. I had to live the life for eight months before Gripper noticed me and took me in. Seth's brother is a tattoo artist so I just started with a few and..." He shrugs then frowns. "I don't regret them. But I...It wasn't the happiest time of my life."

My heart clenches at that, but I hear something in his voice that makes me keep my gaze averted from his face, like I shouldn't delve deeper. Instead my fingertips trace the Time Turner. "I like this."

He nods, and I feel him watching me from the corner of my eye. I keep my gaze on his wrist. His voice is quiet when he answers.

"It reminds me of you."

It feels a bit like someone's punched me in the gut at that moment. I struggle to breathe, wanting to take my hands away from his arm, because I can't trust myself now. I can't trust myself not to show him what he means to me- I know for sure it would be visible in my eyes.

He clears his throat and pulls his arm gently away.

"I better go."

"You're not staying?"

"No. I don't think... not tonight."

There's something in his voice and I look at him finally. He looks sad, but resolute and a cold fear grips me.

"You're not coming back."

He looks everywhere on my face except my eyes.

"No. I'm not."

"Harry..."

"I can't. You can see that now right? It's too dangerous. I should never have come to see you in the first place. I thought it would just be once."

I search his face, looking for uncertainty, for anything that might contradict his words, and tell me that he can't do it – he can't be without me either. But I can see in his eyes that his resolve is unwavering, and I remind myself bitterly – in the way that I used to at school, though it was so much easier then – that this is the meaning of the word 'unrequited'. That the strength of my feelings for him meant nothing, when he didn't feel them back.

Childishly, I cover my face. I can't help it, I want to scream or cry but I can't – it's all just frozen on my face in a mask of pain, and I don't want him to see that.

He grasps my wrists gently as if to pull them away but I hold them firm, so he gathers me into him then. I can't stop the tears as he pulls me into his chest, almost onto his lap – his arms circling me.

The soothing noises he makes into my hair just make me feel worse – a brother's comfort for his sister perhaps. He rubs my shoulder with his fingers, kissing my head, holding me in a vice like grip.

"I'll be alright 'Mione. It's much better for me to know that you won't be in danger too, you know?"

I move my hands from my face to grip around his waist, my fists bunching in his t shirt, pulling him closer. I shake my head and press my face into his chest, his collarbone. I know my tears are wetting him but I don't care. I realise then this is my last moment, with him.

I lean back to look at him again and he cups my face. "I never meant to hurt you. It was selfish."

I close my eyes, willing my tears to stop so I can see him clearly. I want to ask him if I can write, but I don't want to hear him say no.

"Hermione."

His voice has changed a bit, deeper and huskier in that moment. I blink, trying to see him clearly again.

Then I feel him, his lips, warm and surprisingly soft, against mine.

I freeze, not wanting to move, or breathe, in a way that might stop what he's doing right now. I press into him slightly though, I can't help it.

And he pulls away. His eyes are cloudy, he shakes his head.

"I'm not good for you. I put you in danger. I don't want to do that."

"What about what I want?"

I don't even realise I've spoken till the words are out. He looks at me, eyes troubled.

"You have what you want. Your life...it's everything you wanted."

"You don't know that Harry."

He closes his eyes, and I wish he wouldn't, I want to see what he's thinking. But in the next moment they're open, and they've changed, he drops his hands from my face.

"Look after Ron, and everyone else. Make sure he looks after you."

Anger starts creeping in again and I sit back. "I can look after myself."

"I know." His voice is quiet. "Please don't hate me."

The anger dies, instantly and I grab his hand. It's warm, and he squeezes it, watching our fingers entwining. "I'll never hate you."

He carries on like I haven't spoken.

"It's just what I have to do." He holds our interlocked hands up, then kisses the back of mine. Then he drops it and stands. I stand quickly too – feeling frantic, on the verge of hysteria that he's going and there's nothing I can do. He smiles at me and starts to walk to the door.

"Harry!"

He turns, and it looks like he winces.

I rush up to him and hug him, my arms around his neck. If this is the last time, I don't care what he knows anymore. Still, I only murmur it into his shoulder.

"I love you."

He holds me just as tight, lifting me off the ground, squeezing my waist. His lips press into my ear, which is good because I may not have heard it otherwise.

"I love you too. Always."

He leaves me then, and I don't even see him go. I don't even hear his footsteps in the hall or know if he had one last look at me, on my knees on the floor. I'm not sure if he was close enough to hear, when I started sobbing.

But that's the way that he leaves me.

 _H_

 _Capella keeps bringing back my letters. I know I shouldn't keep sending her. But I'm still hopeful you might change your mind. Besides, writing them gives me something to do. And I figure there's no harm in me writing to myself._

 _I wish I had never followed you. Maybe you might still be visiting then. But it's been three weeks and I know you're gone now._

 _There's so much I want to say to you but I can't. I wonder if you know that._

 _I'm sure you don't know how hard it is to go on without you._

 _Please look after yourself. I worry about you._

 _Love,_

 _H._

Lyrics credit: You're All I Have by Snow Patrol.


	7. Chapter 7

Come Undone

Chapter 7

Warnings: bit of drug stuff.

* * *

 _Even the best fall down sometime_

 _And even the wrong words seem to rhyme_

 _Out of the doubt that fills my mind_

 _I somehow find you and I_

 _Collide._

* * *

I have no appetite. For anything.

Not food, not work. I wonder sometimes if he was right, and it would have been better if he'd never returned.

There's an empty pit in my stomach, hollow and cavernous. It's not the first time I've felt it. The first was at Hogwarts, the night of the battle. When I saw Harry on the grass, dead. Or so we thought at the time. The empty pit first gaped open on that night, at that moment. Lately I've started to wonder if it had ever really closed over again.

My dreams are haunting nightmares, littered with him. I can never reach him, though I can see him clearly, even smell him. They're so vivid, I often wake up crying.

And I hate my house now. It just reminds me of him. Him sprawled on his couch, him sitting at my dining table. Him coming down the stairs, him leaving through my front door.

I'm at my front door now, trying to muster the energy to fumble through my bag for my keys, to get inside. This awful lethargy is permeating my whole life at the moment. Nothing seems to get through; I've even started taking the local Portkey to and from work to try and jolt myself out of the stupor (I hate taking Portkeys, I get thrown around violently every time) but nothing breaks through the haze. I feel like I'm viewing life through smoky glass, just going through the motions.

I drop the keys by accident and sigh, eventually bending to pick them up of the concrete doorstep and jiggle them into the hole. I lean my weight against the door; even that seems heavier than before. I step inside.

And he's there, sitting on my kitchen bench.

He smiles at me, a hesitant smile that seems involuntary.

The pit in my stomach seems to fill in so forcefully that I feel queasy and lightheaded; my hand searches the wall for balance.

"Hi."

I don't reply; I'm still staggered, busy reminding myself to breathe.

He doesn't make a move towards me. "Sorry – about breaking in. I didn't want to hang around outside..."

He looks good, so good to me. Sitting there in a dark t shirt and faded jeans, Crookshanks on the bench with him too, butting him affectionately with his head and winding around his torso. I almost don't trust he's really there. My hand moves to my own face, touching it as if to make sure that _I'm_ still real.

He vaults down from the bench and I finally find words. "I thought you were gone."

My voice sounds odd to my ears.

"So did I. I've got something I have to ask you."

I think he realises then that I look a little faint. "Are you okay? Shall I get you a tea?"

I nod numbly, though I know I won't drink it. He turns to the kitchen and I shuffle in to the dining room table, and sit perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of my chairs.

"Here." He hands it to me and I make a conscious effort not to touch his fingers. I place it in front of me, staring into the still swirling surface.

"What are you doing here Harry." Still odd, my voice is barely audible.

He clears his throat. "I don't know. I should just... I never should have..."

I look up at him, glad my eyes are dry. I almost feel past crying now.

"You said you were going."

"I know. I'm.." He turns abruptly, pressing his fists to his forehead. "Fuck! I know."

Irrationally I want to hug him. I grip the mug tighter.

"Something's happened."

A twinge of interest sparks in me and I observe it, amused that it's the first interest I've shown in anything these last few weeks. I just look at him, waiting.

"Gripper came back, from overseas. And he..."

He trails off, staring at me, his face set in a frown.

"He what?"

"He wants to see you."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "Me?"

He grips the counter behind him and I see his knuckles whiten. "You. He's...he's been thinking about you, ever since..."

He trails off and my mind finally kicks into some kind of life; the opposite of its condition for the last few weeks while he keeps talking.

"He won't give it up. He keeps telling me to invite you somewhere, but I've been stalling, said I couldn't get hold of you." He grinds his teeth, I see his jaw working. "He's not the most patient guy."

I nod. It's bizarre, the instinctual danger the thought of Warren stirs in me is finally bringing me to life, I'm thinking and planning before I realise.

"Well, I'll have to go."

"What?"

"You can't blow your cover." I look up at him, feeling exceptionally calm. "I can't let you blow your cover."

He frowns at me, the frustration etched on his features. His eyes are dark and his fingers are still gripping the bench, tighter now.

"You can't."

"Yes I can. Besides, if I can't, then why are you here?"

He shakes his head, then folds his arms, leaning on the bench. "I just needed to know what he knows. I can't try to read his mind too deeply, it's too risky now. He's getting better at blocking too." He looks at me, incredibly sad all of a sudden. "I just need to know if you're in danger, if he can find you."

I think on that. Probably not. He won't find anything from the girls at the store, they don't know me. But it could put Harry in danger if he finds out I lied. He'd be suspicious. And I want to help Harry, more than anything. I decide then.

"Maybe. I tried to get him to drop me somewhere else but he insisted on bringing me here."

Harry closes his eyes, and I feel guilty for lying. He swears under his breath.

"But I... I want to Harry. I can help."

He shakes his head vehemently. "No."

Something I vaguely recognise as anger whips up and out of me before I can catch it – I've felt nothing so intense in the last while and maybe that's why I can't contain it. I'm instantly yelling.

"You know what? You don't get a say in my life! I've asked nothing of you! And yet you come and go as you please, just taking my friendship for granted. I'm my own woman Harry, and a talented witch. It's my decision too."

He watches me closely, his eyes darker than ever. I stare back, breathing heavily; I notice a new tattoo on the inside of his other forearm. Then he sighs, and pulls out a chair.

"You're right." He sinks heavily into the chair. "Who do I think I am."

I frown – confused and wary of his change of tack.

"But Hermione. He's dangerous – more than you know. He's not stable. You don't want to get messed up in this."

My glare is baleful. "Don't tell me what I want."

To my surprise, he laughs. And I remember him acutely from my dreams – the recall of which nearly drags me instantly back into my sadness. But I have a purpose now. I have something to do. And despite the imminent danger, that makes me close to happy.

"So. What's the plan."

We have dinner. It feels strange, the tension between us. It's not just this thing with Warren. I've tried to avoid thinking about the last time we were together at Grimmauld, it was too painful. But now I run it through my mind, cringing a little at how transparent I'd been. He keeps his distance I notice, and avoids touching me. I feel a sharp pang of hurt at that.

"I think I know the best tactic."

I glance at him; he's staring unwavering into his glass. He takes a sip, then stares back into the liquid again.

"You come over; we're having a party on Saturday. He'll be there and I'll just make it clear...that you're mine. That you're with me."

My stomach flops violently, I breathe out slowly. He hurries on.

"See, he likes me. But he's been irritated that I won't bring you to him. Now if he realises it's because I feel more for you than I was letting on, I think he'll back off a bit. I think."

He still hasn't looked up at me, and I try and order my thoughts for when he will.

"Well, that makes sense then." My voice sounds odd again.

"Yeah."

We're both staring in opposite directions; Crookshanks' loud purr is the only noise.

"But you'll have to practice – the mind blocks. And no magic whatsoever; you'll have to concoct a whole back story of your muggle upbringing." He sighs and runs his hands over his face and up to lock behind his head. Finally he looks at me.

"And you'll have to go shopping."

He eyes my work clothes, collared shirt and fitted skirt.

I roll my eyes. "I know you're not trying to offer me fashion advice."

He smiles crookedly, amused. "I wouldn't dream of it. But just to fit in – think Angie. But slightly...less skin."

"You mean you don't want me to turn up in my underwear?"

He glowers at me, but then smiles, suppressing a laugh. "No. Funnily enough."

"Fine."

There's silence again and it's not comfortable. I stand up abruptly. "So, are you staying? Tonight?" My heart stills, waiting for his answer.

"If that's alright."

"I suppose." He laughs as I walk away to grab a towel from the clean laundry I brought in this morning. When I turn back to offer it to him, he's followed me – I nearly walk into him.

"Thanks...Hermione. Thanks for doing this."

He's so close, and it's painful, how I can smell him – and how that reminds me of our last goodbye. What am I letting myself in for? I step back slightly, but can't resist putting my hand on his chest.

"You don't need to thank me. Just...stop leaving. I don't like it."

He nods and closes his fingers around my hand, holding it against his heart.

"I'll try."

I throw the towel in his face and step past him. "Whatever."

He whips the towel around and flicks my legs, I squeal. He laughs and bounds up the stairs and I close my eyes and fall into the sofa. What am I letting myself in for indeed.

* * *

Holy. Crap.

I feel naked.

I turn in the mirror to look at my bum.

"Holy crap."

Crookshanks makes an odd noise from the bed, I'm not sure if it's approval or confusion, as he watches me checking my reflection. My jeans are dark, they feel spray painted on. My heels are nice; they make my legs look longer.

But I'm not sure about the top. It's black, fitted- enough that it pushes my fairly minimal cleavage slightly up. I've left my hair out, taming it so it falls in individual curls. My makeup is a little heavier than what I usually wear out, the eyes dark and smoky, but not as heavy as Angie's when I saw her last.

I catch sight of my face and shake my head, mentally scolding myself.

"Relax Hermione. No one is going to find this odd but you" I mutter.

There's a knock at the door.

"Here we go then." I don't know if I'm talking to Crookshanks or my own reflection.

When I open the door, he's facing away, looking out into the street, his hands in his jeans pockets. He turns and I see his face, anxious, and then it falls.

His eyes widen briefly then narrow. He frowns. "You look hot."

It should be a compliment I think, but the tone is almost... pissed off – nearly accusatory.

My face struggles to find an expression. "Uh..thanks?"

He reaches forward for my wrist, holding it out and letting his eyes fall down the length of me. I'm uncomfortable, until I see his expression. He's recovered a bit, and he's smiling now.

"You look nice. Really." He clears his throat. "You ready?"

I don't miss the note of concern in his voice. "I'm ready. Don't worry."

He nods briskly, and waits while I grab my bag and jacket, and lock the door behind me.

He holds my hand, and it feels natural and right –there's none of the awkwardness of the other night. It feels familiar, and I realise suddenly what it's like. It reminds me of how we used to be together, at school, and later, on the Horcrux hunt.

"Stay close to me tonight – okay?" He stops, making me look him in his eyes. I nod, and he opens the door of his car – the same car I'd followed him to that morning so long ago.

He jumps in and turns the ignition, taking off and driving so naturally I can't help but stare at him. He glances over and smiles.

"Not quite as fun as a Firebolt. But it's okay for now."

I look around at the lush interior. "Building pays alright then."

"Hmph." He makes an amused sound, but keeps his eyes on the road.

"So, Jean Granger. You remember where you were born, where you grew up..."

"The nice muggle school I went to...yes, I've got it all." I tap my head. "You're not really doubting that I didn't study enough over the last four nights are you?"

He smiles wide, shaking his head. "Wouldn't dare. But remember..." He turns and looks at me while we stop at some lights. "Don't get too cosy. It's just tonight."

I roll my eyes. The light goes green and he takes off quickly. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His jeans are dark, and he's wearing a collared shirt for the first time in a while, fitted and black with the sleeves rolled up; the muscles in his forearms twitch as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel. I try and remember what he used to look like, back when we were at school. I find I can't – his green eyes are the only significant feature I still recognise. And the scar. Though even that has faded now.

"What."

"Nothing. It's just that you seem so... at ease in this life."

He stares at the road. "That doesn't mean I am."

We arrive sooner than I expect, he pulls over to parallel park before I recognise the house. Getting out, he grabs my hand again and makes me look at him. I shake my head.

"Don't ask me if I'm ready again, Jamie. I'm ready. Let's get this over with."

He smiles, and kisses my forehead. We step up to the house.

"Jamie!"

I recognise the Irish lilt of the voice that calls out to us once we walk into the big open room at the end of the hall. I'm still holding his hand as Angie bounds toward us, clad in a tiny black top, a short denim skirt and long boots. She's smiling; I expect it to fall once she sees me, but she doesn't even glance in my direction – just winds her hand around Harry's neck and kisses him full on the lips.

He doesn't flinch – just waits, as she presses against him with pure audacity, happy to be the centre of attention. When she releases him, he smiles, and squeezes her arm.

"Alright Angie?"

She smiles back, and I realise she is very pretty, even through the heavy black eye makeup. Her gaze is unmistakably fond, I feel like I'm intruding.

Finally he walks us past, not bothering to reintroduce us, but I think that's the right call. She doesn't let her eyes stray towards me once.

The room is dimly lit, loud music playing from unseen speakers. There's only around twenty people there, lounging on the couches, standing around. The whole back wall is open; the windows I saw the other day were actually cavity sliders and the room continues out to an expansive deck with an outdoor fireplace. It's nice, quite sophisticated – far from any stereotypical drug den party scene I might have imagined. But as we walk through the room I notice a few glazed eyes, with some unnaturally wide pupils at the centre of them.

He leads me out to the deck, and I see there's an impressive bar set up there, with the lanky form of Seth standing behind it.

"Jamie! What'll it be lad?"

Harry holds up two fingers and Seth quickly serves us up two tall glasses of something on ice that I don't recognise and that tastes good. He smiles at me, all straight teeth and sparkly eyes. There's something about his face that's charming and instantly likeable.

"Jean, right?"

I nod and take the drink, smiling back. Harry is talking to someone on the other side of him.

"Welcome to 'The Palace' then." He clinks his glass with mine, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially. "You're causing quite a stir you know."

"Really?" I'm not acting when I say that.

He gestures to the room. "Oh yeah." He glances down at me, and then drapes one arm around my shoulder and squeezes. "Don't worry though. It's a good thing."

I catch Angie, finally looking at me, like I'm something on the bottom of her shoe. "You sure about that?"

"Just stick with me, girl."

Harry turns around then.

"Don't listen to a thing this guy says."

"Hey!" Seth looks almost genuinely upset as Harry leads me away again, to sit by the fire. He shouts something after us that I don't catch, but he's smiling when I look back.

"He's sweet."

Harry laughs into his drink.

"I don't know if he's 'sweet'. But he's good."

I clink my glass with his, noticing Angie watching us.

"So far so good then?"

He cocks an eyebrow.

"Still early, Jean. Still early."

The night goes on, and I genuinely relax. The occasional daggers from Angie are the only low point as I meet and talk to people who wouldn't be out of place at our after work gatherings. There's a few more tattoos than I'm used to, slightly different clothing and make up, but I find myself laughing and enjoying everyone's company.

Harry is attentive. It's definitely part of my enjoyment, even though I know it's not genuine. But I can't help but revel in his little touches – his fingers brushing my neck, his hand resting on my waist or lower back.

I'm talking to a shy girl with dark hair and ridiculously heavy eye makeup when I feel a shift of mood at our gathering.

I feel slightly disorientated for a moment, and then I hear a voice, close enough to my ear that it makes me jump.

"I wondered when I'd see you again."

I take a deep breath; this is what I've been preparing for. I turn around trying to keep a neutral expression.

"Oh hi!" I'm pleased that my voice is steady and light.

Warren looks down into my eyes. His stocky frame fills my vision, though he's not as tall as Harry, and definitely not a patch on Seth. But he's far more intimidating, his presence seems to fill the space more than I'd remembered.

"Great party!" I keep my tone playful and perky.

He smiles, and I wonder if his smile ever reaches his eyes. Harry is nowhere to be found, but I sort of knew he wouldn't be. I adjust my thoughts to call him Jamie in my mind. I know I can't be too careful.

Then I feel it. Invasive now, as if he's trying to ambush me. It's harder to resist his delving into my mind this time, but luckily I've been practicing. I throw up trivial thoughts of my retail job, shopping, drinks with girlfriends, this party.

His eyes narrow and I smile, determined not to arouse suspicion.

"You're having fun."

He means to say it as a question I'm sure, but it comes out as a statement.

"Absolutely. This place is gorgeous."

He stares at me, as if considering something. "Have a good time then."

And he walks away.

I'm too surprised to feel relieved. That was almost too easy.

I go back to my conversation, feeling slightly rattled.

I try not to look around too much, but I see Warren holds court wherever he sits, joining in the conversation but observing also. It seems like he is genuinely liked by everyone, but there's a wariness in the air that wasn't there before he came. Fletch also arrived with him, his face still surly like the other morning, which leads me to believe that's his permanent expression. He talks in a low voice to Angie who's now relatively drunk and she swears at him and tugs her hand away, ordering another drink from Seth at the bar. Seth shrugs at Fletch and hands it to her.

I spy Harry finally not long after, next to Warren, their heads bent low in conversation. Harry meets his eyes; they look for all the world like close brothers conferring on something. I force myself to look away.

Harry comes and sits next to me soon after, not saying anything, but sitting perceptibly close.

About an hour later, Seth moves everyone inside, shutting the cavity sliders. The group is down to about ten now, a few have taken off, but Warren is still there, clearly settled in for the night. I think I can feel in my peripheral vision that he watches me a lot. I determine to ignore it.

Seth pulls out his guitar and starts to play, strumming in perfect background music to the conversation. I watch him for a bit, enjoying the ease with which he plays. He's incredibly talented.

"Good isn't he."

Harry's voice is close to my ear, he leans in to be heard.

I nod vigorously. "Amazing. Really."

He smiles at me. "Will you get us a drink?"

I glance at his drink, it's half full. He starts to down it as I stand up and head to the kitchen. He's shown me where to get bottles from earlier, so I get two, and take them back over.

Harry's still sitting on the low couch but has shifted over a bit now. He's talking to a guy beside him and I stand there, distracted by Seth for a moment, transfixed by his long fingers spanning the strings on the guitar.

So I'm caught off guard when Harry lightly grabs my thigh – between my legs and gently guides me towards him.

I look down but he's still looking at the guy he's talking to; his hands seeming to move unconsciously to my other leg and then up and over my bum, lingering until they settle on my hips, and he steadily lowers me down to sit on his lap.

My body responds quicker than my brain, and more naturally; my arm winds around his neck to lean into him. His arm travels around the back of me to hold me there, and his hand cups my thigh with his thumb rubbing back and forth on the fabric of my jeans.

I pass him the drink and pretend to listen to their conversation, knowing it's crucial that I look and feel comfortable. He keeps talking as I feign my interest, aware that my heart's beating too fast.

He taps one hand on my outer thigh in time to the music and takes a drink with the other. His face is pretty much hidden to the room by mine when he murmurs something that I finally pick up as 'Sorry.'

"About what?"

He smells really good tonight, some subtle cologne that I can detect more now that he is so very close. I try to concentrate on how his closeness shouldn't be unusual.

"About all of this." He squeezes me, signalling the way we're sitting I think.

I shake my head and bring my hand to his face, kiss him on his cheek and linger in front of his ear, then whisper to him.

"It's fine. You shouldn't be thinking like that. You've already slept with me, remember?"

When I draw back to look in his eyes, his smile is slightly shocked, but then his eyes turn playful.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Was it good?"

I feel the effect of the alcohol suddenly, as if the warmth suffusing my veins just decided to shift through me. I give a dismissive snort.

"As if you have to ask."

He laughs, and pulls me into him, his face presses into my neck for a moment. I think he breathes in as if he's inhaling me.

Without looking around, I can feel a lot of eyes on us. Seth is grinning our way as he plays and Harry just smiles slightly at him before he takes a long drink.

Angie tries and fails to look away, her angry glare turning slightly more wounded now. I don't dare look to Warren.

After a while, Harry leans back into the couch more, pulling me with him. I take my arm away from his neck and I'm half lying on him, my back resting on his chest, one of his arms around my waist, the other on his beer. We both watch Seth, and listen as he sings; I'm glad for his distraction.

I glance at Warren, I can't help it.

He's staring, at me steadily, contemplating. I can't believe how blatant he is, but he stares so long, I have to look away.

Then Harry leans us forward, placing his empty bottle on the coffee table, before pulling us back into the sofa again. His hand comes up to cover my bare shoulder that's closest to his face, his warm fingers stroking slightly. He kisses it, firmly, and then runs his lips softly and absently over my skin.

I can't help but close my eyes; a sharp wave of heat running right down my spine before I catch it.

Seth is singing a song I don't recognise, but it sounds lovely just the same. I concentrate on his voice, trying not to get too out of control with my emotions, breathing to calm my body down. But it's difficult, especially when Harry's breath is ghosting over my skin and his lips brush over the point where my shoulder joins my neck.

I close my eyes, trying to let a calm fill me, as if there is nothing unusual about the intimate way I'm lying with my best friend in a roomful of people. But with my eyes closed, the physical sensations are heightened; I feel the hardness of his chest against my back and the vibration of his voice against me as he talks to the guy next to him again.

I can feel Warren watching me still and so, I finally let go.

I've never done anything by halves.

So why shouldn't I throw myself into this, as wholeheartedly as any other project? This is another assignment, and I'm good at assignments. If my job is to convince everyone that this man I'm lying on is a guy called Jamie who I've fallen at least in lust with, and not my best friend Harry who I've known since I was eleven and who's never shown the slightest interest in me romantically, then I will do that.

So what if I end up with my heart – or to be less melodramatic, my ego –trampled on? So what if I'm living a fantasy that if I'm really honest with myself has been on my wish list for some time now.

There's a job to do. So I'm going to do it.

When I open my eyes again it's really clear to me. I'm Jean Granger, muggle girl, just innocently enamoured with this muggle guy, Jamie Dursley. I tilt my head to look at his face, so close to mine. It's not really that hard to pretend.

I stretch my arm up and around to cup the back of his head. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. He pulls me a bit tighter to him, but that's the extent of his reaction.

Angie is a different story. She glances at me with obvious hostility and I surprise myself by smiling at her languidly. She looks away.

Any part of me that was feeling slightly self conscious has pretty much evaporated; there's another couple in the corner of the opposite couch, pretty wrapped up in each other and it's fairly dark in here. Besides, I'm too comfortable now, leaning against him like this – feeling his breath in my ear. I think I could even sleep like this if my senses weren't so on fire.

Seth is singing and his voice is so attractive, it really wouldn't sound out of place on the radio. It's hard to concentrate on conversation now so I don't, I just listen to the music.

The song finishes and there's a quiet lull.

Then Angie speaks up.

Sethy? Play my song?"

He screws up his face in answer. "Aww Ang..."

"Please?" She's pleading but I get the feeling she -and everyone else - knows that he's going to give in.

He grumbles, but begins strumming. When he starts singing, I vaguely recognise the song as Coldplay – it suits his voice. I feel Harry's chest rise as he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, almost like a sigh.

 _Honey you are a rock_

 _Upon which I stand_

An unusual hush has fallen over the group, sensing something. I look at Angie who has her eyes closed, swaying blissfully in her own world.

 _And I came here to talk_

 _I hope you understand_

 _Green eyes_

 _Yeah the spotlight shines upon you_

I get it now. It's Angie's song for Harry - or Jamie in her mind. Far from feeling put out or uncomfortable, it makes me sad – for her. I see why she feels the way she feels about him, and I can see it's deeper than an infatuation. I suddenly feel guilty for having any part in deceiving her.

 _And how could anybody deny you_

I wonder how Harry feels about it all. He's tapping his fingers on me again, but only I can detect that his body has tensed just slightly underneath me.

 _Green eyes_

 _You're the one that I wanted to find_

 _And anyone who tried to deny you_

 _Would be out of their mind_

I register then that he sang the last two lines softly in my ear. Fletch is glaring openly at Harry now. I rest my head against his.

 _Honey you are the sea_

 _Upon which I float_

Music suddenly pours out of the rooms speakers, giving a few of us, including me a fright. I turn towards the stereo and Warren's standing there, smirking but with no warmth in his smile.

"That's enough of that crap. This a fucking party or wot?"

Fletch is the only one who's laugh is genuine, though others laugh along too. I steal a glance at Angie who looks sullen but inexplicably scared at the same time.

Harry pats my thigh in a manner that means he needs to get up.

I stand to let him up and don't even flinch when his hand touches my bum as he passes behind me. I try not to notice that Angie leaves the room soon after him, stumbling slightly as she does.

I decide to go and sit next to Seth who's leaning his guitar against the wall, rocking happily in time to the dance music that fills the room now.

"Seth – you're really amazing on the guitar. Really."

He smiles at me, and there's a twinge of sadness in it, though his relentless optimism doesn't let it through.

"Ah it's just a hobby. Oh I had a song for you too!"

"You did?"

He grabs the guitar again and starts playing energetically even though it's harder to hear it now.

"Yeah – listen;" I recognise the rift of the David Bowie song before he starts singing. " _Jean Genie... let yourself go oh whoa..."_

I laugh and push him; I know he's teasing me in good humour. "I always hated that song. And that name." That's almost a slip up.

"Try being called Seth. I like it – your name. Jeanie, like in a bottle. You gotta promise me three wishes."

I laugh again, realising I like Seth just as much as Harry does. "Sure. Easy."

"Alright – first one!"

I hold my hands up. "Whoa hang on, they're conditional..."

He ignores me. "I wish... you'd let me get you another drink."

I screw my face up. "Is that all?"

He nods and I shrug. "Granted!"

He's back before I get a chance to feel uncomfortable by myself.

"Here."

I take a sip; it tastes lovely. "You're a good bartender too."

"Well that's the 'Seth Special'. Slightly enhanced, alright? You'll thank me more later." And he winks.

I shrug and stand up, then let the music wash over me.

* * *

Lyrics credit: Collide by Howie Day, Green Eyes by Coldplay.


	8. Chapter 8

Come Undone

Chapter 8

Thank you so much for the reviews :)

Warnings: more drug stuff & a tiny bit of grossness.

* * *

Harry doesn't come back for almost thirty minutes but Warren's not there either and I'm having a great conversation so I'm okay. Then the room tilts sideways. It feels strange, but it's not unpleasant. I'm just very _aware_ all of a sudden, of voices, of my skin. It's not scary, but the part of me that promised myself I wouldn't drink too much is alarmed, I look around for Harry.

Then he's there, by my ear.

"You okay?"

My tongue feels slightly too big for my mouth when I go to answer him.

"I think so."

He looks into my eyes, searching.

"Seth Special?"

I nod, marvelling at how flexible my neck feels.

He smiles, though I see his eyes are not that amused. Then he's distracted while he coughs for a moment and I look at the room over his head, seeing the whites of Warren's eyes as he stares at me again.

"Come here."

I'm only just aware of Harry's hand on my neck, and how sensual his touch is, before I turn and feel his lips on mine.

They're warm, and soft, I close my eyes immediately. His lips part against me, gentle but insistent.

I feel like all the bones in my body have melted and I stumble into him slightly. His hand on my ribs steadies me, but he doesn't pull back, in fact he deepens the kiss.

I think I make a noise in my throat as the kiss takes over, the sensation of his tongue running slowly over mine leaving no room for thought. Heat rushes through me, making me melt again.

Through the haze I register something. A capsule, like a pill, passing from his mouth to mine.

My eyes flutter open in surprise, but I close them again quickly. He's giving me this for a reason, I know it. I take the pill from him, deeper into my mouth. He makes a satisfied noise against my lips, which I might've thought was about the kiss if I didn't know he was just using it to pass me the pill.

I pull back and swallow the pill with his lips just an inch from mine. He locks eyes with me and it's kind of remarkable that it's then I realise, seemingly for the first time, they are the greenest eyes I've ever seen. I feel him smile rather than see it, because he's still so close. Then he leans in and kisses me again.

Even though I expect it this time, this one takes me more by surprise.

His fingers on my neck grip me quite firmly and I fall into him readily now, pressing up on my toes to taste him more.

His mouth opens against mine, and it's a little ...savage, like he's trying to steal all my breath.

Then he breaks contact, abruptly and I'm disorientated, it's lucky he still holds my waist. But he doesn't look at me again; moreover he wipes his lips briefly and takes a deep drink.

I touch my lips too, gently; they feel bruised or at least swollen though that's not possible. I gaze up at him and he slides a glance at me, appearing indifferent. I straighten my clothes self consciously.

"You should go to the bathroom. Splash some water on your face."

His voice is husky. I murmur in reply and turn and walk blindly away, the flush creeping up my neck. But I feel steadier the further I get, the room isn't spinning anymore. I manage to locate my purse on the way out.

My heels click on the tiles as I make my way down the hall to the bathroom, the sharp sound breaking through the fog in my brain. But the fog has lifted a bit, I notice, leaving behind just a warm, confident feeling. I touch my lips again, wondering at what Harry gave me.

The cool water on my hands is just what I need. I pat my face and that back of my neck then I stare at myself in the mirror.

This role playing is really messing with my head.

So that was a kiss that wasn't a kiss. I work out for myself that the pill he gave me must have been some kind of remedy for whatever Seth had put in my drink. I close my eyes, remembering his tongue on mine.

If that's the antidote, I want more of the poison.

I shake my head, trying to be stern with my reflection, as I reapply some makeup. But I can't help my thoughts from straying. The first kiss yes, that was necessary. I can't help but think the second kiss was drawing it out a little.

There's a light tap on wood. I call out 'just a minute' while I fluff my hair.

When I yank open the heavy door, it's blue eyes I see, instead of the green I hadn't realised I was expecting.

"Alright?"

My blood runs cold at the sight of him but I manage to pin on a smile that I hope looks genuine.

"Yeah fine. Just needed some air."

Warren watches me with that intense stare and I keep smiling, playing innocent. His invasion of my brain is less aggressive this time and I'm glad, after everything that had just happened, I don't feel up to having to block too strongly, though I'm pleased my automatic defences don't let me down.

I'm a bit worried when he appears momentarily frustrated, but then he speaks again.

"Where were you raised, Jean?"

Here we go then. I feed him my learnt by heart story, being unnecessarily chatty and forthcoming. I've been planning, and Harry agreed, that by being a bit of an open book, I'd lose some of my intrigue to him.

He's smiling at me, that same smile that doesn't touch his eyes but I get the feeling it's as warm as he gets. It unsettles me slightly that he's moved to block the hallway so I can't get past.

"I was brought up not far from there too." He appraises me. "I never went to school with girls as gorgeous as you though."

I frown, involuntarily. "You're just saying that."

"I don't 'just say' anything. I only say what I mean." His eyes are intense. He moves forward slightly, and it takes all I have not to step away from him. He drags the back of his finger briefly along my jaw.

"You have no idea how insanely sexy you are, do you."

I take a shuddering breath. I'm not sure what the correct answer for that is, and thankfully I'm saved by answering from a disturbing holler from the entranceway.

"Jamie...Fletch! Fuck! Fuck – somebody!"

Seth's sandy blond head appears in the hall, his eyes wide and hysterical, searching. "Gripper – fuck, it's Ang!"

Warren turns to follow him just as Harry walks in the other end of the hallway and strides towards us too. We lock eyes and I start walking instinctively to follow.

Seth hurries to the upstairs bathroom, taking the steps two at a time.

"Hurry – fuck! What do we..."

Angie is lying on the floor, eyes rolling in her head, vomit down her front.

"Jesus Christ," someone behind me mutters.

The healer in me lurches forward on impulse, but Harry is quicker. He pushes past me and scoops her up, easily, cradling her on his lap as he sits on the edge of the bathtub.

"Ang. Come on Angie girl..."

He grabs her face, clearing her mouth with his fingers and slapping her sharply. She groans slightly, but her response is minimal.

He gives Seth a sharp glance. "Seth – what the fuck!?"

Seth is anguished. "I don't know Jamie, I swear, I was just going to my room and I heard her, I don't know what... I don't know what she's been taking. I stopped giving her anything hours ago; I _told_ her she'd had enough!"

I register Warren standing by the door, regarding the limp girl in Harry's arms with disgust.

"Stupid bitch."

My mouth falls open at the contempt he pours into his words. Seth turns to him with wide eyes.

"What do we do Gripper? We gotta get her to hospital!"

"Don't be a fucking idiot. She can't go to a hospital."

Harry is watching them, a muscle flexing angrily in his jaw. I catch his eye, willing him to read my unspoken question – asking if he has anymore of what he gave me to reverse the effects of whatever she's taken. He shakes his head, the movement barely noticeable, telling me that whatever it was, that was the last of it or it's not strong enough for the job.

My words are out before I know I'm going to speak them.

"I can help." Three heads turn to me. "M-my ...Dad. He's a doctor."

Warren's expression is interested, like I've just made an amusing joke at a dinner party. Seth is shaking his head a little frantically, so I speak directly to him.

"He'll be fine – he won't say anything. He can help her."

Seth stares wide eyed up at Harry who stands and hoists Angie up with him. Her head droops on his shoulder, her arms falling slack.

"Let's go."

Fletch appears at the door then and Warren finally does something helpful - presses him back as he tries to clamber for Angie.

"They've got it Fletch. They're gonna help her." He manages somehow to sound bored.

"Like fuck! I'm coming!"

"No you're not. The less the better." I know from his tone he's not expecting any argument.

He grabs my wrist as a I pass, pulling me back to meet his gaze. "You're sure – your old man. He's good?"

I know that he's not just questioning his skill but his ability to keep a secret. I nod once, trying hard not to wrench my arm away.

"Pity you have to go. Another time."

I just stare at him in astonishment before Harry yells up from the bottom of the stairs.

"Come ON!"

I feel Warren watching after me as I hurry away.

The night is warm and the street deserted.

Harry heads straight for his car, parked opposite, I run to keep up. He's muttering under his breath all the while.

"There you go – you're gonna be alright. Stay with me Angie girl."

He goes to lay her in the passenger seat and I call out.

"No, in the back with me."

He doesn't glance at me, just follows my instructions. Within seconds we're winding through streets, dangerously fast; I'm vaguely aware of horns blaring but they die out before we have a real chance to hear them.

"Don't die on us Angie. Don't die."

He calls to her from the front seat as I examine her, all my training slotting into place. We had to have an in depth knowledge of muggle medicine from the outset, and I start with using the wandless magic I know for calming and stabilising her blood. I think it helps but she's frighteningly pale and unresponsive.

Harry's eyes are tense in the rear view mirror.

"How's she doing?"

"I need my..."

I trail off – still not wanting to say 'wand', even though Angie isn't anywhere near conscious enough to hear it.

He turns a corner sharply and I put my hands out to steady the two of us in the back.

Quicker than I imagined possible, we're outside my house.

He's at our door in a flash, heaving Angie out of the back seat and into his arms while I fumble for my keys in my purse.

"Hurry, hurry" he mutters, and I finally get it open.

Crookshanks eyes us grumpily as light floods the room, and darts from the couch and up the stairs. I follow, overtaking him to get to my bedside drawer, nearly diving for my wand. I'm so desperate for it; it flies into my fingers from halfway across the room. My medicine bag is by the door, I grab it on my way out.

When I get back downstairs, Harry is leaning over her on the couch, clutching her face again.

"Angie. It's Jamie. Come on, wake up."

I brush him aside.

"Get me two bowls, one with water and one empty, and some towels."

He takes off to follow my orders and I tend to Angie. An assessment scan with my wand shows she's taken a concoction of drugs that could fell a Hippogriff. I shake my head and speak to her loudly.

"Come on, Angie. Stay with us."

She moans a bit and I take that as encouragement.

Harry delivers my requests and then kneels by her head.

Now it's my turn to mutter, to myself, as I'm prone to do when I'm working. "Combined Drug Intoxication, amphetamines, alcohol, monoamine oxidase inhibitors..."

"Can you speak English..."

"Drug cocktail. Either knowingly or not I don't know, I think maybe ...not. There's the alcohol, some ecstacy and some antidepressants I think..."

"Jesus, Angie." He dips the edge of a towel in the bowl of water and wipes her face tenderly. I delve into my bag and start preparing a needle.

"You use needles?"

I glance at him. "There's no better way to get things into your bloodstream, magic or not."

"What is it?"

"A poison neutraliser. Like liquid Bezoar. More concentrated than what you gave me I think." I avoid his eyes when I say that, thinking inappropriately of _how_ he gave it to me. I go on. "I'm not 100% sure if it will work. But it's going to hurt."

He nods, and puts his hands either side of her face, murmuring in her ear and stroking her hair.

I administer the potion and she instantly tenses, arching her back against the reaction it causes in her body. Harry holds her as still as possible and mumbles comforting words while I try and help hold her down too.

Eventually the pain eases and she lays motionless, her face slowly relaxing. She moans, and finally makes out a word.

"...Jamie..."

"Shh. I'm here. Rest."

"Jamie... I'm sorry..."

"It's okay Ang. Quiet, now."

I busy myself cleaning everything up, putting away my kit. I make some tea, giving Harry time with her.

When I come back she's sleeping, Harry stroking her temple.

"How's she doing?"

"Seems okay, thanks to you."

I hand him a mug. "She might be sick again."

He puts the mug down then, and pulls his shirt off over his head, checking if his undershirt is soiled too but it isn't. He makes a face and I automatically send the shirt to the laundry with my wand without thought.

"Oh...sorry."

He shakes his head and picks up his tea. "Don't be. That's enough pretending for one night."

His words grate me for some reason but I just bury my nose in my mug.

He rests his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I should've known...I should've seen that coming."

I shake my head. "I don't think even she did. She just ...got the mix wrong."

He nods, closing his eyes. I nudge him.

"You should sleep."

He shakes his head, adamant. "No, you sleep first."

I interrupt. "No, I need to stay with my patient. And I'll need you alert later. So go rest – you can have my bed."

He's going to protest so I push him away, settling in beside Angie.

"Go."

He moves reluctantly, but stands, and then drops a kiss on the top of my head, his fingers lingering in my hair.

"Thank you. I don't know what I was ever thinking, pretending I could be without you."

His words are so candid, I can't even look up. I just stare at my hands until I hear him climb the stairs to my bed.

* * *

 _Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine_

 _You think your dreams are the same as mine._

* * *

Angie makes for a surprisingly good patient. She responds well to the neutraliser, and the draught I give her when she wakes up to keep her sedated. Her eyes are so big and round, just staring at me, slightly fearful through the fog the medication has her under. I try and reassure her.

"Jamie's here. He's just sleeping. You're going to be okay." She just watches me through huge dark eyes, which eventually fall closed.

I wonder at Harry's relationship with this tragic, pretty girl. He's clearly fond of her, but I can't tell how far it's gone on his behalf. It's much easier to see how she feels about him at least.

And how do I feel about that? I tap my quill against my temple, pausing in writing my medical notes. I feel the way I always have. I love him regardless. Years pass and things change but it always remains.

 _I get it. You choose him._

Those words sum us up. And it's always been that he's never chosen me.

I know he loves me, he's said as much. But not in that way.

A nagging voice in my head is asking for attention to the memory of the kiss, the second kiss. I push it firmly away. _Nothing good comes from those delusions, Hermione Jane._

Angie stirs and I move to the armchair, setting up wards to wake me if she regresses. Despite my best intentions, I fall asleep with a sharp recollection of his warm mouth against mine.

Harry leaves a few hours later.

I hear him speaking on a cell phone in the hallway once I turn off the water from my shower. When I'm out and dressed, he says he needs to check in with Gripper – apparently Fletch is going out of his mind not knowing anything.

I hang back while he says goodbye to Angie who's sitting up now, sipping on the draught I've given her. Their heads are bent close, he's speaking in a low voice and she just nods quietly, then smiles warmly into his eyes.

He kisses her on the forehead and stands up. He seems awkward when he approaches me, and I plaster on one of my trusty smiles that reminds me sharply of the night after his first kiss with Ginny.

"I won't be long okay?" He stops short of me, an unnatural distance away. I can see he feels uncomfortable and it hurts slightly. "Thanks, Jean."

"Don't mention it, James."

His smile is crooked, but it's the first real one I've seen in the last twenty four hours. Then he steps towards me and leans down awkwardly; he plants a quick kiss on my cheek. I think it's for Angie's benefit, who's watching us shrewdly from the couch.

His hand hovers by my arm but doesn't touch it. "Will you two be alright?"

I glance at Angie, who's still staring but there's none of the hostility from last night. "Sure."

"Great." He turns quickly and heads to the door. "I won't be long."

He is gone all day.

Angie drifts in and out of wakefulness; thanks to the draught I'm having her take. I tell her that my father popped in to check on her while she was asleep. I can't tell if she believes us that he was ever really here.

It doesn't matter. She is quiet, a bit sheepish I think.

She doesn't eat anything, which is fine because the draught is providing nutrients. In the late afternoon, I ask her if she wants to move to the sunroom and she nods; I help her walk slowly out. I wish I could levitate her; it would be much quicker and easier.

But I keep up the charade, getting almost used to it now. I couldn't imagine how Harry lived without magic before, but now I think I'm getting the hang of it.

Crookshanks jumps heavily on her lap and I go to scold him but she shakes her head, stroking his ears. He glares at me and purrs.

"It's okay. He's a lovely cat."

"If only he knew he IS a cat, and not the boss of the place."

She makes a small smile, still stroking him. We're silent for a bit and then she speaks.

"You don't have to be nice to me, you know."

I turn to her in surprise. She's still looking at Crookshanks.

"I know" I say. "You don't have to be nice to me either."

She looks up at me then, smiling. "I think you've treated me slightly better than I've treated you."

I shake my head, but keep silent, making up another draught. She keeps on, in her slightly musical Irish lilt.

"It's just, Jamie. I don't want...anything to take him away. My life only became bearable once he came into it."

I look at her and I think I know how she feels. I nod and she continues.

"And he likes you. I can tell he really likes you." She closes her eyes and presses her head back into the chair. "I can see why."

I walk over and kneel on the floor by her. "He cares about you. Loves you even." The words are surprisingly tough to say.

Her dark eyes study me. "But he's not _in_ love with me." She takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling. "He's told me as much. He's always there for me, he looks after me. He lets me sleep in his bed when I need the comfort."

My heart leaps a bit at that.

"But that's it. And when I asked him, he said he can't love anyone." It's almost like she's talking to herself now.

"He said he's in love with someone else, someone he doesn't see anymore. I asked him why not and he just said it was too hard to be around her. But she's the one he loves."

All the feeling in my limbs seems to have gone; my mouth feels really dry all of a sudden. It's stupid, but my eyes start to prick with tears, I frown down at my hands, angry at myself.

 _Get it together. You've known this for how long? Hell, you were probably the one that got them together. Ginny and Harry are the great love story. You're just a bit player – and just when did you start to let yourself believe it might be any different? Just because she hasn't been in front of him, doesn't mean he doesn't still love her – no matter how he thinks she feels about him._

I realise it's time for me to talk now, so I blurt out the first thing I think of.

"I kinda figured he was a bit emotionally unavailable. He seems like a nice guy, though."

She nods fiercely. "The best." She looks at me, and I must seem a bit forlorn, because she offers me the first kind words she's managed.

"But who knows...maybe he just needs someone else to take his mind of this... _her._ " She smiles at me with something akin to camaraderie and I squeeze her arm, grateful, even though I realise how misled she is.

I give her the draught and she gets sleepy again, for which I'm glad so I can mope in silence. I don't know when I let my guard down, but I admit now that playing the role of Harry's girlfriend has not been good for me.

Crookshanks has followed me inside and he rubs himself against my legs, making a whining miaow which, if I didn't know better, sounds suspiciously like, 'I told you so.'

"Oh, shut up."

I swear he smirks, before trotting off.

Harry doesn't arrive till that night. He brings takeaways, and to my horror, he has a split brow and cuts on his hands.

"Harry – what..."

I put my hand to my mouth and swivel quickly to look at Angie on the couch; luckily she's still asleep. He follows my eyes to check she hasn't woken too, then takes off his jacket, wincing slightly.

I whisper. "What the hell happened this time?"

His smile is grim. "Fletch."

"He hit you?" I help him out of his jacket, immediately regretting it as I'm leaning too close to him now, catching the scent of his skin. He has just a black singlet on underneath, fitted to the outline of his body.

I pull the jacket gently over his injured hand. "What a prat."

He raises his eyebrows at me, smiling. Then he shakes his head. "Nah, he's just worried about Ange. Doesn't believe me that she's best where she is, but then, Fletch has never trusted me." He flexes his hand gingerly. "Smart guy."

I take his hand to look at his knuckles, unhappy that he's hurt but glad that it means he got his own back.

He clears his throat and I realise he's uncomfortable again.

It's been that way between us since...the kiss, I realise. He's horrified – he must be. It was far more difficult for him to pretend than it had been for me. I drop his hand gently.

"Come and eat then."

Angie is thrilled to see him. She seems a lot better tonight, and I'm pleased with her progress.

Her string of profanities - once she hears that Fletch had a go at Harry – is impressive; that's one relationship that is most definitely lopsided I think. Harry quietens her down.

"He's just worried about you Angie. You gave him a fright – you gave all of us a hell of a fright."

She sniffs and folds her arms.

"You need to get out of there Ang. That place is not good for you."

She looks up at him in abject horror, eyes even wider than normal.

"I can't! Where will I go?"

"I know a place. But you're gonna have to trust me. And you're gonna have to stop with the drugs. _All_ the drugs."

Her eyes are still wide, but I have a feeling this girl would jump off the proverbial bridge if he asked her.

"Will I still see you?" Her voice is quiet and hopeful.

He reaches out and holds the back of her head, looking in her eyes.

"Sometimes, yeah. I promise."

She nods slowly, her huge eyes filling with tears. "Whatever you say, Jamie." He pulls her in for a hug and I stand up and clear the dinner away.

* * *

 _One more night just before you break me_

 _Hold me safely_

 _Stay just a little longer._

* * *

Angie sleeps soundly in my bed.

She tried to object but with a bit of cajoling from both of us she relents, and the sleeping draught takes over almost instantly. Crookshanks curls up in the crook of her legs as I slowly close the door behind me.

Harry is in the kitchen, washing up. I lean against the doorway and watch him, which I find unreasonably pleasant. The muscles in his arms are so defined; they twitch under his skin at the slightest movement. I remember seeing a weights room in Warren's house the other night, and I feel pretty sure he must be using it.

He glances at me as he dries the last of the cups in the dish drainer.

"She okay?"

I nod. "Yeah, asleep already."

There it is again. His back goes faintly rigid; I feel that strange tension from him. Like he's uncomfortable being alone with me now. It makes me feel terrible.

I decide to ignore it and keep talking, crossing to the cupboards to tidy stuff that doesn't need tidying.

"Crookshanks is a bit smitten."

"He's always been a good judge of character." He glances at me. "You've seen the worst of her. She's really not a bad person, just a little ...messed up."

My throat aches a bit, like the tears I've been angrily holding back all day are going to make their way out at any moment. I frown and shut a cupboard door too hard.

When I look back at him, he's folding his arms across his chest, leaning on the bench, his legs crossed in front of him. He seems lost in thought.

I catch sight of the grazes on his knuckles and grab down my muggle first aid kit again, grateful for something to busy myself with.

He doesn't notice me approaching until I take his hand.

"You don't have to..."

"Shush."

He holds his hand out obediently as I dab at the scrapes on his knuckles, but his whole stance is uptight and edgy – so different to the last time I was tending his wounds in this kitchen.

I bristle at that. It's not my fault that we kissed. The whole idea was what _he_ thought was best, not me, I didn't suggest he pretend to like me, pretend to want me.

"What's wrong?"

His words take me by surprise. I look up and he's staring at me intently.

"Nothing." I have to look away to pull off my lie.

"Liar."

Okay, so I didn't pull it off. I close my eyes and brace myself to meet his gaze again.

He's frowning down at me; his look is almost one of irritation. With his head bent so close over mine, I feel the breath from his nostrils drifting over my face.

I open my mouth to speak - not that I have any idea what to say – but then I find myself staring at his mouth. I've forgotten already how his lips feel on mine. Not forgotten so much, more just cynical that it really could have felt as incredible as my memory tries to sell it.

He shifts then, just slightly closer and I would be sure that his breath was coming quicker than usual if I didn't know better.

I'm still holding his hand; I know I should drop it.

But ripples of heat flood my stomach and on through my body as I realise he should have spoken by now too. But he hasn't, and we're both standing too close, the electricity between us is too noticeable for me not to realise that something is happening.

It feels like an eternity that we stand there, close, the current between our bodies becoming nearly tangible.

He bites his bottom lip, sucking it gently as he keeps staring down at me and I look at his face only below his eyes.

"I better go."

His voice is thick with emotion and I wonder if he actually hears my silent answer, because my every sense is screaming so loudly _no, don't go_. Do anything but go.

I wonder vaguely through the haze that maybe he's testing my self respect – or at least my sense of self preservation.

Whatever it is, he hasn't moved, and I fear I'm going to fail whatever test this is.

But I take a deep breath, not sure if it shuddered. I lick my lips before speaking.

"Okay."

I'm determined not to beg him to stay. The hurt from his rejection will be too much, I know that. I'm almost proud of myself, or at least I would have been if I could have stepped away.

But I stand there frozen, staring at his mouth still, silently committing it to memory this close, because I'll never see it like this again.

And then his hand finally pulls out of mine but instead of dropping to his side, it travels up to my face, hovering by my jaw but not touching. His head tilts to the side, bends closer to mine, but the whole movement feels involuntary.

There's a pause, a brief, suspended second where I'm sure we're both thinking this is either crazy or inevitable. I can't work it out, can't even hear my own thoughts with my pulse thundering in my ears.

And then he decides for us, finally grasping my jaw, his fingers digging in to my neck, and crashes his lips to mine.

My body responds instantly, gripping him tight, the first place I reach, either side of his waist.

Both his hands are on my face now, kissing me so desperately I forget entirely about breathing; thinking only of the heat of his mouth and the frantic note that's so obvious in the way I kiss him back.

It's so consuming I don't really register what we're doing, don't notice him stooping to lift me up against him until he's sitting me almost roughly on the bench and standing between my legs, though our mouths don't lose the slightest bit of contact. His hands trail over me, burning where they touch, even through my clothes. He yanks me closer, against his waist.

All I can hear is my own breath, sounding almost comically loud now, though I'm vaguely aware his is coming just as harsh and fast.

Then my hands are moving of their own accord, over his firm stomach, around to his back and shoulders and bunching in his singlet before I have any idea that they're going to begin to tug it off him.

This, I think, is what makes him stop.

"Wait...stop..."

He drags his lips from mine and my eyes open reluctantly. His hands are now planted on the bench either side of me in fists, and he leans forward so just our foreheads are touching. Our breathing is loud and ragged, and his lips are still so close to mine that I have no control over my own hands when they grab his jaw and pull him in to kiss me again.

He responds, his kiss slightly slower and more sensual this time but still desperate tasting. And then he stops again.

"Wait...this...we shouldn't do this."

His words break through my incoherent thoughts; I let my hands drop to his shoulders, trying to still my breathing.

I look into his eyes but they're squeezed shut.

"What's wrong?" My voice surprises me; I didn't know I was capable of speech yet.

He meets my eyes then, and when he speaks, it's still through uneven breaths.

"I know it's not like I've been a good friend to Ron for a while...but I'm still his friend." His eyes are pleading. "I'm still his friend."

I feel instantly disorientated, trying to jump on to his train of thought.

"Ron?"

His looks at the ceiling. "I can't do this to him."

I frown, still wholly confused. "To ...Ron?"

I shouldn't have said his name again because he pushes off the bench then, taking the heat of his body away, just a step. His hand goes to his mouth and he rubs his jaw, not looking at me.

"I'm sorry."

It feels like I've been woken abruptly in the middle of a dream. I grip the edge of the counter I'm still sitting on.

"Harry." It's all I can manage as I watch him grab his jacket and shrug quickly into it. He runs a hand through his short hair, frazzled I can see, and starts backing to the door.

The words tumble out of me.

"Ron and I aren't together. We haven't been, for months."

His eyes widen, in genuine shock I think. Then they shut down again, and he rubs his face with both hands, before they drop to his hips.

He stares at the ground. "I still...I'm sorry 'Mione. I've gotta go."

I barely pick up the mumbled words before he turns and is gone.

Lyrics credit: Poison and Wine by The Civil Wars, Stay by Little Big Town.


	9. Chapter 9

Come Undone

Chapter 9

* * *

 _H,_

 _I'm so sorry about last night. I was way out of line._

 _I'll come by this afternoon; I won't dump Angie on you much longer._

 _I was right, I really don't deserve you._

 _Sorry._

 _H._

 _H,_

 _Don't be ridiculous. It's okay._

 _You don't have to hurry back. Angie and I are fine._

 _Did you ever think maybe I'm the one who doesn't deserve you? Just forget about it. It's been a weird week._

 _H x_

* * *

I'm being very strict with my thoughts.

Like rationing our meagre food stores on the Horcrux hunt, I measure out small chunks of bite sized thought to indulge in, flitting near the memory of that kiss – the real one, the one that wasn't for anyone else's benefit – but never right into it. Never thinking the whole thing through because I'm sure now that I'll drown in it if I do.

He pops in the next night, brief, courteous, just a functional visit. Angie is so delighted to see him, I don't think she notices he doesn't kiss me hello or goodbye, doesn't really speak to me, doesn't even make eye contact before leaving as quickly as is polite.

Strangely, I'm grateful for her company.

She keeps my mind off him, or somehow occupied with her care anyway. I've brewed a potion that is helping with her withdrawals from the stimulants she's used to, but she has no idea, she's just enthralled with how good she can feel without drugs. I made a whole cauldron full while she slept and I've bottled it for her – almost a month's supply that gets gradually weaker – hopefully creating a weaning process. She thinks it's just medicine my father arranged. I hope that it gets her through until Harry can place her in the care he's arranged.

Work lets me call in sick. I shouldn't, but I'm at least honest enough with myself to know how fragile I am right now and that work wouldn't be a good place for me.

Then Harry takes Angie away the next night.

She hugs me, clinging on tight.

"Jean...thanks for everything. You've been..."

Her throat closes up, and somehow I know that she's not one that cries easily, or expresses herself well.

"It's okay." I squeeze her back. "Just look after yourself?"

I feel her nod, then she draws back to look in my eyes. "You too."

I try and smile.

"And you." She stoops to pat Crookshanks. He miaows plaintively.

"Looks like you'll have to come back for visits. Can't have him pining and moulting all over the place."

She smiles up at me warmly. "I'd love to. I will." She glances at Harry for confirmation and he nods, smiling slightly. He avoids my eyes – as he has for the last few days.

"Bye Angie."

He guides her through the door, with his hand on her shoulder. I think he might leave without another word and I brace myself for that, but then he turns back.

"I'll...come back."

I nod, more readily than I mean to.

"Okay."

He nods back, finally making eye contact. I attempt a small smile and he gives me one back.

When they're gone I let myself cry.

* * *

 _If I don't say this now_

 _I will surely break._

* * *

It must be exhaustion that lets me fall asleep.

So I'm dazed and disorientated when there's a knock, at 12:34am I see when I squint at the clock on the oven. My heart still beats a little faster as I head to the door.

He can tell I've been sleeping though.

"Oh, sorry – look I can take off..."

"No, come in."

He follows me as I walk to the couch and sits gingerly next to me.

"Angie okay?"

"Yeah she's good. She's pretty fond of you."

"...Now."

He smiles at that. "Yeah, _now_."

We're silent for a moment, and then we speak at the same time.

"Her-"

"Ha-"

"You go first."

"No it's okay, you go."

We laugh then, and it cuts some of the tension. Then he speaks.

"Shit...Hermione, I'm really sorry. I fucked up. The other night."

I frown, concentrating on the serpent design on his forearm so I don't have to look in his eyes.

"You 'fucked up'?"

"Yeah. I..." He takes a deep breath, and I can tell he's beginning a speech that's most definitely rehearsed.

"...I shouldn't have. The last thing I want to do is take advantage of you – or ruin our friendship. I know that's what's most important."

I look into his eyes then, just to see if he really means what he just said.

His eyes are veiled, he's concealing something. And in that moment, all my frustration, all my emotional turmoil comes to a head and I see him the way I always want to, but I never let myself – so _right_ and so good, when I look at him he just makes me feel like everything I've ever yearned for is in that beautiful man right there, in front of me, as he always has been.

He must read my face, but I'm not sure if he interprets it correctly from what he says.

"..so... I'm sorry. You won't have to worry about it anymore."

I shift closer to him, till our legs are touching, and he notices - his whole body tenses. My voice when I speak is barely audible.

"Oh for crying out loud, Harry. Will you shut up and just kiss me again. Please."

I think his eyes widen but I'm not totally sure because I'm looking at his lips.

"Uh..."

He bites his lip and then moves forward, getting within a breath of my face.

He freezes, undecided, and I have time to think that my gut reaction may not have been the best one.

And then he grabs me, kisses me, and totally contradicts what he just said. He kisses me so deeply, so well, that I forget to worry that he might pull away any second now, wondering what he's doing.

He pulls back just slightly, searching my eyes.

I shake my head, locking my arms around his neck.

"Just stop it, Harry don't. Stop thinking so damn much," I mutter.

He still hesitates, breathing like he's run a mile, but then his mouth cracks into a grin against mine. And then he listens to me.

And kisses me more.

His hands on my back press me even closer, and then he moves his lips down my neck. I close my eyes, and breathe out in one long breath. The relief that floods me doesn't stay for long – replaced quickly with other, more intense feelings.

He leans over me, lowering us back into the couch, and just the weight of his body on mine makes colours flash behind my closed eyelids.

I feel him kiss the column of my throat, and I take my own advice, shutting down all my thinking for now, breathing in the smell of him, _so_ close now, closer than he's ever been.

Still, I want him closer.

He must be thinking the same thing because his hands duck under my top, tracing up my sides and over my bra. I arch into him and he grabs for the hem of my shirt while his lips are still locked with mine.

He drags my top right up, we break contact while he tugs it over my head, and then I find his lips again immediately once it's off.

He smiles as I do the same to him, dragging his t shirt up his back; it's the one with the skull design on it I think, in some oddly detached way.

He reaches a hand over his head to help me and we both smile a little at the slightly awkward movement required to yank it off. But finally we're skin to skin, and any humour quickly evaporates.

He kisses me hard, more urgent now and the low groan I hear from him makes me grasp him to me closer, locking my legs around his hips. His weight bears into me, his palm under my back and pressing me up into him.

"Harry... upstairs..."

I feel him nod, and he sits back quickly on his haunches, and brings me up to straddle his lap.

He holds my head, and I do the same to him, stroking the sides of his face.

"You're sure..." He whispers it more incredulous than as a question.

I kiss him in response.

He gathers me close, unfolds his legs to lift us off the couch and carries me in front of him, to the stairs. He has to feel his way up the first few because we're still kissing; he pulls back to watch his footing and I hold on, kissing his neck instead.

His voice is quiet and low in my ear.

"I'm not going to ask you again, you know."

"I know. You better not."

He laughs, and then takes me to my bed.

* * *

 _I long to see you in the morning light_

 _I long to reach for you in the night_

 _Stay lady stay, while the night is still ahead._

* * *

The kitchen tiles are cold under my feet. I stand on one foot, and place the sole of the other on my leg to warm it, repeating the action as I stand there, bathed in the chink of light shining from the open fridge.

I stare with unseeing eyes at the contents; trying and failing to tame the smile on my face.

I can't stop smiling and I can't stop thinking.

Remembering, the last few hours, the tiniest of details.

The feel of his skin, the sight of his shoulders moving, his arms flexed to hold himself above me. My stomach flips yet again; I put my hand on it to quell the feeling.

And he's still here.

Sleeping soundly, above me right now in my bed.

I almost don't want to go back, just to savour the moment a bit longer, enjoying the anticipation.

But I give in finally, grab a large bottle of soft drink and some chocolate in my arms and pad back up the stairs. I'm also holding my top that I rescued from the floor of the lounge, along with his t shirt – I put his on. It's hanging just to the tops of my thighs, and smells like him.

When I open my door, I see him by the sliver of moonlight falling through the curtains, lying asleep; face down on my big brass bed. Twisted in the one surviving sheet that only covers him from his waist down, his feet sticking out the bottom.

I place the drink on the bedside table, trying to be quiet not to wake him.

"Hey."

He's awake. I turn to look at him, suddenly absurdly self conscious that I'm in his t shirt, of all things. I smile softly at him and he smiles back, his face still half in the pillow.

"I've got...I...there's some..."

He interrupts. "Come here."

I can't believe that after everything we've just done, I feel shy – I don't meet his eyes as I crawl towards him on the bed.

I feel him sit up to meet me then he grabs me and flips me over him and on to my back. I grab hold of his shoulders, trying to suppress the thrill coursing through me because whatever this is, I think I should try not to get too carried away by it. But then he runs his hand down my leg and bends it up against his side until my leg hooks around his and I know my resolve is shaky at best.

"Suits you."

I pull back to look at him and he looks down at his t shirt, pinching the fabric with the hand that cups my shoulder. I smile and move just the fraction it takes to kiss him.

The kiss heats up pretty quickly and I feel drunk with it, opening my eyes to see the dark outline of his arm holding me, the side of his neck and jaw. Nothing has ever looked so good to me.

He stops and presses his forehead on mine, then rolls over to grab the drink I brought. He sits up slightly, opening it and taking a drink; I can't stop watching him. He offers some to me, and helps me drink it, then puts it back.

Then he leans over me again, his arms either side, his fingers on my temples as he studies my face. I bite my lip, trying to stand his scrutiny – his eyes so close and intense.

"You okay?"

I run my fingers down his back and press closer, nodding. He smiles, his eyes seem amused. He kisses across my nose, my cheeks and eyebrows.

"Stop thinking so damn much," he murmurs.

I laugh out loud at that, remembering my own words from earlier -that feels like a lifetime ago now.

He grins into my neck as I roll over on top of him.

"Okay. I'll stop."

And I do.

In the morning, I wake up alone.

But he isn't gone. I can feel it.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, not wanting to move too much.

He walks quietly back into the room, dressed in his jeans and singlet, carrying his jacket and shoes. He sees I'm awake and smiles, puts his things down and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning over me.

"You have to go?"

He nods, and brings his other hand in to trace my cheekbone with his thumb.

He leans closer and kisses my face, and my neck.

"I'll come back – as soon as I can."

I watch him as he moves back and goes about putting his shoes on. I can't help but sit up and press against his back, wrapping my arms around him and resting my chin on his shoulder to watch. When I kiss his bare skin, I remember.

"Do you want your shirt?"

"No. It'll give me something to think about."

"What?"

"You – in my shirt."

I bury my smile against his shoulder.

He grabs me then, pulls me into his lap. I feel a little sick when I realise it means he's going and I grip him tightly.

"Be safe. Please."

He nods, his face hidden in my hair.

I kiss him long and hard and afterwards he laughs lightly against me. "I'll never leave if you don't stop that."

"That sounds good."

He catches my eyes then, serious. I meet his gaze, his eyes a light, bright green, even in the dim light. Then he lays me gently back on the bed.

"Get some sleep." He presses a kiss on my forehead, then my lips. "You need it... you didn't get much sleep."

"Well that's your fault."

I watch him walk to the door, where he turns and looks back, gripping the door frame.

Then he's gone.

I listen to his footsteps and the front door closing.

And I turn over onto my stomach, closing my eyes, breathing in deeply.

I don't move for a long time, but I don't sleep either.

And later I can't manage much breakfast.

But I've never felt better.

* * *

 _H_

 _I'm really sorry 'Mione, I can't get back tonight._

 _Something came up but I'm okay._

 _Tomorrow if that's alright?_

 _I can't stop thinking about you. It's hard to concentrate._

 _Love,_

 _H._

 _H_

 _That's okay. But... hurry._

 _I can't concentrate either._

 _Your fault._

 _Love,_

 _H x_

* * *

I trace the lines on his arm, running my fingers over the ink as I lay in the crook of his opposite shoulder.

He holds me in tight, his eyes closed; I wonder if he's asleep. But then he speaks.

"Okay, so that was worth the wait."

I can't help but smile, and turn to kiss his chest under my cheek. I smell his skin – it's fast becoming my favourite smell in the world.

He only arrived maybe thirty minutes ago, and I don't remember if we said much more than 'Hi' before we were heading upstairs, joined at the lips, tugging and pulling off clothes that are now strewn like a trail through the house.

"Yeah." That's all I can manage.

He looks down at me then. "I missed you."

I push up and kiss him, slowly.

I want to say it back but the unspoken rule of us not speaking too much nags at me again, and I change the subject.

"How's Angie?"

He nods, as I rest my chin on his chest and watch him.

"She's good. She's staying out of the city at a facility. She's sounds really good – and she asked after you. And Crookshanks."

"That's great."

"Yeah." He frowns and looks troubled for just a moment; I barely catch it before he runs his fingers through my hair, a smile on his face now.

"What."

"Nothing."

"Harry."

He studies me, assessing.

"Tell me."

He sighs. "Can't I have any secrets from you?"

"You can try."

He laughs and shakes his head. "Just...there's a big shipment coming through soon. I might be gone ...quite a bit."

My heart sinks but I nod.

"But, they know now. They know where I'm going when I see you. And the good news is, Gripper is either pre occupied with the shipment now, or he gets that you're..."

"I'm ...what?"

He grins. "You're mine."

I raise my eyebrows in mock disapproval. "Oh, I'm _yours_."

"Yes, woman."

I roll my eyes laughing, and he grips my arms, pulls me up to kiss me. He sits up, drawing me across his lap, until I'm straddling him, without breaking the contact of our lips.

I pull back, though he tries not to let me. "Stop distracting me. This shipment, is it going to go ...well?"

He looks up at me, serious again. "Maybe. There's some muggle law sniffing around."

"Harry – you have to be careful."

"I know. Don't worry."

"I can't." He's kissing my face now.

"You wanna go out?"

That surprises me. "Where?"

"Anywhere."

I smile, the idea suddenly thrilling me, and go to move off him. He grips me tight, pulling me back, to kiss me again, and then murmurs in my ear.

"In a minute."

I nod, completely distracted now.

"Mmm. In a minute."

* * *

 _I won't go_

 _I won't sleep_

 _I can't breathe_

 _Until you're resting here with me._

* * *

It's funny, I feel like I'm moving through my days in a stupor again – like the time that I thought he was gone for good, but this is different.

I stay engaged in life this time, though strangely it still feels like I'm observing everything from a distance again. Nobody really notices, in fact some are relived that I seem happier than I have for some time. It's just that my thoughts are preoccupied, dwelling on fresh memories.

Of him. He still shifts through my life unpredictably, but it's not as painful now, not such a wrench when every time I see him, I get all of him.

He stays the night, as often as he can.

Over the last two weeks, we've been out late, to a pub for late supper, to a midnight movie, always out of the way places, so we don't run into anyone we know. It's probably silly but just holding his hand and walking down the road with his arm around me for just that brief time gives me so much pleasure, even though we're back to not speaking much again.

It doesn't matter; we're saying more to each other than ever now.

Every touch is so saturated in feeling that I keep forgetting to be cautious, or to question what this is. And so I refuse to, pushing away like a petulant child the worries and doubts calling for my attention. Replacing them instead with memories of warm nights in my bed, midnight feasts and evenings lying tangled in each other on the couch.

But every now and then, I see my way out of the bubble we're living in and wonder if it's really that wise to continue to dodge a definition of what this actually is.

I wake one night, suddenly cold without his body heat against mine as it was when I fell asleep.

I whip my head up and around, checking the clock first which blinks a fuzzy 3.14am to my blurry eyes. I scan the room for his clothes and then I see him.

He's sitting on the window sill with half his body out of the opened window. His face is turned to me but the light keeps most of his features hidden. I smell a faint hint of smoke and then see the little dot of red embers glow bright for a few seconds as he draws on his cigarette from the hand that's out of the window.

"Harry?"

My voice is husky. He lifts a hand at me but stays silent.

"Are you okay?"

I just catch his nod in the darkness. I throw the covers back and swing off the bed, get up and walk towards him.

I wrap my arms tight around myself the closer I get to the breeze from the window. He throws his cigarette out, in time to open his arms to me when I get to him.

"Come back to bed." I huddle into him; my arms still folded as he grips me tightly, pressing his cheek on the top of my head.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

I twist to look at him. He busies his hands with brushing my hair from my face, pulling it back and together at the nape of my neck. I can see his eyes now as they study my face. They are thoughtful, almost sad. I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"You're a smoker now?"

"Occasionally. It's worn off on me I guess." He wrinkles his nose. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Strangely I think it's when I say that, I finally realise I'm in too deep.

He smiles but I can see it's an effort. I don't want to look at his face anymore; I rest my head on his shoulder.

"You must be cold." He has on no shirt or shoes, just his jeans. "Come back to bed" I murmur again.

"I'm alright."

I breathe out slowly, feeling on edge. Then I break away and walk back to the bed and pick up the blanket. I throw it around my shoulders and approach him again. He accepts it when I perch next to him on the sill and offer some.

"Whatcha been thinking about." I try and keep my tone light.

His hands come up to cup my face, his thumb rubbing my lip. I don't know if I want to know the answer or not.

"I was just watching you."

I study his lips, having no idea what to say. Instead I turn my face to kiss his palm.

He kisses my mouth, rescuing me from speaking again. I wind my arms around his waist, and press my face into his collarbone.

We sit there in silence for a while. Eventually he pats my shoulder and we crawl back to bed and warm up again.

But that night haunts me. I know it was my moment, to question or ask to qualify what we're doing. And I didn't. Gryffindor courage deserting me at the most crucial of times. I thought I was wiser than this and I feel as if I don't know myself anymore.

But I didn't know it was possible to feel this way about someone. To want to see them, like a physical hunger, and to never get enough of them, to never be close enough even when they're there, right next to you.

I didn't know that was possible.

* * *

 _H_

 _Tomorrow afternoon. I should get you a cell phone you know._

 _We could go to a movie? If we make it out of the house this time. (Your fault.)_

 _I can't wait to see you._

 _Let me know if that's okay._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _H_

 _Of course that's okay. The sooner the better._

 _There are a few good movies, so yeah, if you like. Was so not my fault if I remember rightly, it was YOU carrying ME back up the stairs, not the other way around._

 _Agree about the cellphone – though Capella will be a bit put out. We might have to still send a few letters through her to keep her happy._

 _I can't wait to see you either._

 _Tomorrow x_

 _Love,_

 _H_

* * *

Luna looks at me knowingly but says nothing. I'm glad Ron is having drinks with us, though I don't think she would say anything anyway. But she picks up on my change of mood – hell; it must be obvious, because even Ron does.

"You look different."

"What?" I try and pretend the music and the voices in the pub are too loud to hear him the first time though my stomach lurches. I'm already a little irritated at him tonight because he told me off for calling his current girlfriend his ex girlfriends name. It's hardly my fault the old one was called Laura and the new one is called Lauren.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

"Have you had a haircut or something?"

Classic Ron. "Nope. Same old me."

He smiles and winds his arm around my neck kissing the top of my head. I hope Laura or Lauren or whatever her name is isn't watching.

"I had an idea."

"Well done."

"Ha ha. About Harry."

He's got my attention now. "What about him?"

"We should leave him a letter." I frown at him and he spins me around to meet his eyes, getting all serious.

"No I mean it. See, I left him one not long ago – just on the table at Grimmauld. Kreacher let slip that he got it." His face is so full of joy and triumph it crushes me and I find it hard to keep my expression neutral. Luckily he continues because I don't know what to say. I didn't know about the note.

"So, we should keep writing to him, we might get through. _You_ should write to him."

I bite my lip, feeling guilty for the first time in a while, about betraying all my other friends for my best one. I take a breath and paste on a smile.

"That's a good idea Ron. We should do that."

He nods, happy with my approval and hugs me enthusiastically.

* * *

 _H_

 _I was right. Capella is not happy about the cell phones. So this is to appease her a bit – though I actually miss getting letters from you as well._

 _I've never asked you how you get around this – getting these letters I mean. They surely don't come to 'The Palace' do they?_

 _Angie texted me and so I called her, she sounds great. I'll tell you about it when you come around. Which I hope is soon._

 _It's getting colder at nights. I need you._

 _Love,_

 _H x_

 _H,_

 _Yeah – you were right about Capella and I have the peck marks to prove it. No she doesn't come to The Palace. I'm keeping that little secret to myself, because I still shouldn't really be doing it. But it's as safe as I can make it, don't worry._

 _That's great about Ang – she doesn't have many girl friends. It's nice of you to look out for her._

 _Friday. Nights are too cold for me now too._

 _Love,_

 _H._

* * *

It feels like I'm living a double life too now.

And finally one night, my two worlds collide.

Harry arrives early, and we have the whole afternoon. I love days like this.

I come up behind him while he's making some food, wind my arms around his waist and press my face into his back, marvelling at how much broader he seems to me now. I just rest there, breathing him in and then I remember.

"Ron said he left you a letter."

I feel him laugh a little.

"Yeah. Kreacher sent it to me."

"Oh." I don't ask, even though I want to know what he said.

"He said he misses me and I should stop being a git and come back." Then he laughs again. "And the rest was about his girl problems with detailed descriptions of about three girls called Laura or Lana or something beginning with L. He's got quite the harem going by the sounds of it."

I laugh at that too then push away from him, going to the fridge.

"He loves it."

"I can tell." I hear from his voice that he's facing me now. I turn around to glance at him. He's looking serious, like he has something to say and I wish he'd put a t shirt on so I could think a bit straighter.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you...for all that. It must've been...weird."

I shake my head, not really sure where he's going with this.

"No...it wasn't. It isn't." I can't meet his eyes all of a sudden. "I don't think you really understand...it wasn't really like that with me and Ron. We kind of...never got off the ground."

When I glance back at him, his eyes are wide, though I can tell he's trying to stay composed.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Besides, I had all those other legions of male models and gorgeous athletes lining up around the corner to date me you know so..."

My attempt to diffuse the tension works, he breaks into a grin. He walks slowly towards me.

"Oh, is that right is it."

I try and keep a straight face. "Mmm. Was a bit tiring being lavished with gifts and you know, trips around the world, private yachts, diamonds..."

His smile grows wider the more I go on. "Yeah, that must have sucked."

I start backing away at the wicked look in his eyes, still trying not to smile. "Mmm, it was terrible."

He reaches me then and suddenly grabs a spot on my thigh that he knows is my worst tickle spot and I shriek, holding my hands out to keep him away.

"Then there was that billionaire who took me to dinner in Paris..."

He laughs and renews his efforts. I struggle away, shrieking again. He chases me, and is trying to corner me, when I hear the knock at the door.

We both freeze - eyes wide and locked with each others.

"'Mione? Are you in? Hurry up its freezing!"

Harry recovers first. "Ron" he mouths silently.

I nod; my eyes frantic. He looks around quickly, rushes to grab his jacket and his shoes and races past me and up the stairs. He looks back and catches my eye, smiling reassurance but I know he's rattled too.

Ron keeps knocking as I take a deep breath, smoothing my clothes and hair before opening the door.

"What's up with your wards? You've blocked me?"

He strides into the room; my heart sinks when I see he's carrying a bag of takeaways.

"Uh yeah... just being safe, girl living alone and all that. I only just changed them the other day" I say, talking about my anti apparition wards.

"Well, you're taking it pretty seriously aren't you? Couldn't even get through on the floo to tell you I was coming!"

I nod weakly; my increased security isn't anything to do with safety against bad guys.

"Sorry."

He shrugs, already unpacking the food. "Don't worry. I brought Thai."

I try and muster some enthusiasm. "Great."

"And I need some advice."

Two hours of sifting through Ron's girl problems and I was losing my game face, struggling to keep my eyes off the clock. I could picture Harry upstairs, lying on my bed in a maddening mental picture that was making me feel impatient beyond belief.

"...so I think we're really not compatible, you know?"

I nod feebly. I love you Ron, but will you _please just go_.

"I mean, it's not like I..."

He jumps, and slaps his hand on his hip pocket.

"What?"

He pulls out a glowing coin and looks at it. "Lana. Can I borrow your floo?"

I smile, authentic this time. "Sure."

I use the time to pretend to go to the bathroom upstairs. When I open the door to my room it's dark, and there's no one on the bed. I whisper as quietly as I can manage.

"..Harry..."

I jump at a hand on my bum, and turn around and swat at him standing behind the door. I can only see his white smile before he pulls me in close and kisses me – I stop being mad, or cautious and kiss him back.

"'Mione?" Ron yells up the stairs. I jump back from Harry, putting my hand over my mouth. He freezes, but I can see a slight smile still on his face. He reaches out to prod me when I don't answer.

"Y-Yeah?"

"I've gotta go!"

"I'll be there in a sec!"

Harry's arms dart out to grab me again, kissing my neck while I try and silently object, twisting away but smiling all the while. I give him two quick kisses and wrench myself away.

I almost succeed until his fingers close quickly over mine to stop me at the last moment. When he speaks, his voice is only a whisper.

"I love you."

I whip around, shocked. I can just make out his eyes in the dim light. He's calm, serious; I could be fooled into thinking he never spoke at all. I'm speechless. He gives me a gentle push.

"Go."

Ron leaves quickly. Lana is obviously number one in the queue at the moment.

I turn everything off downstairs and feed Crookshanks, still in a daze.

The room is still dark when I enter it from the bathroom. He's in bed under the covers. I'm wearing his t shirt again; I sleep in it all the time now.

I think he's asleep but as soon as I'm under the blankets he gathers me in to him, turning me so my back is against his chest. I close my eyes as he nuzzles my neck with his nose and lips.

I put my hand back to cup his face.

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Was that weird for you?"

"Yeah." He sighs, his breath skimming my ear. "It was."

I turn around and kiss him then, and we forget about talking for a while.

And later, when he's asleep (fast asleep, I'm sure) I say it back.

"I love you too."

* * *

"No."

"If it's starting to look suspicious then I want to help."

"No way."

"Harry you-

"No."

I plant my hands on my hips. He's the most stubborn I've seen him for ages.

"You don't get to say-

"What you do and don't do, yeah I know. But you don't need to do this Hermione. The shipment is two days away. Gripper has bigger things on his mind."

"Well why did he ask you about me then?"

"He didn't – it was Fletch. He just said it was strange they didn't see you. Who cares what he thinks."

"Gripper maybe?"

Harry snorts and shakes his head. Then he looks at me and his face softens. He reaches out and strokes my cheek.

"I appreciate it, really. I know you're looking out for me. But hopefully it will be over – soon."

I look up into his eyes; the morning light is striking them just right, making the colour even more beautiful than usual.

"And then what?" My voice is so quiet, I nearly whisper.

His face changes and he frowns, watching me, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

"I don't know."

Suddenly I don't want any more of this conversation. I cup his jaw, and tiptoe to kiss him. He responds, eager for the distraction I know.

I pull back and speak softly against his lips. "Just be careful okay?"

He nods, and kisses me again.

* * *

 _H_

 _Something's come up. Don't use the cell phones._

 _Come and meet me at the church on the first corner past The Palace tomorrow night at 10._

 _Make sure to come alone. I can't wait to see you._

 _Love,_

 _H_

 _X_

Lyrics credit; Look After you by The Fray, Lay Lady Lay by Magnet, Here With Me by Dido


	10. Chapter 10

Come Undone

Chapter 10

Warnings: Bit of violence.

* * *

I stare at my cell phone, just managing yet again to stop myself from ringing or texting him.

He said not to use the cell phones for a reason. It's not as if he uses it a lot anyway, only a few times a week to tell me when he's coming, and he always keeps the messages short, like someone might be checking them.

But there is something strange about this. I look up at the imposing church, and then around at the empty streets. Weirder still, he hasn't answered my responding letter yet.

Things are busy for him at the moment, I know. Maybe he really is in trouble.

The thought makes me run up the concrete steps and through the wooden doors.

The church is quiet and dark, aside from a few candles burning at the altar. My footsteps echo eerily in the cavernous ceiling as I walk slowly in and squint into the darkness. I decide to walk down the side aisle instead of the centre, keeping an eye on the shadowy corners.

Something about this church is giving me the creeps, and I suddenly wish I'd brought my wand. I'd decided it was too risky to, this close to The Palace.

I wait, looking for any other movement besides the flickering flames of the candles. My anxiety makes me decide to whisper into the shadows.

"Harry?"

"Who's Harry?"

The voice makes my heart skip a quick beat; I whirl around to see a dark shape by one of the stone columns.

The speaker steps forward into the light and my blood freezes in my veins. His blue eyes penetrate mine, even in the gloom and I nearly stagger from the force of his stare.

"Warren?"

"Who's Harry?" His voice has a light conversational feel to it but I'm not buying it. His gaze is as cold as ever as he continues slowly forward.

I decide to play it as close to the truth as possible. "It's a nickname. For Jamie." My attempted smile feels distinctly artificial. "Is he here?"

He smiles back, though it comes out as more of a sneer. He shakes his head in answer. I fight desperately to compose myself as he gets closer.

I keep talking. "What are you doing here?"

He grasps my upper arm, almost painfully. "I'm having a party. Through here."

He leads me, half dragging me to keep up as we head to the back of the church. I feel some kind of barely checked fury emanating from him and work on my mind blocks, repeating the exercises over in my head as we walk.

He pushes me through into an antechamber off the side; a long cold room lit by a table lamp only, the only furnishings a desk and a huge Persian rug on the flagstone floor. Fletch looks up from his seat against the far wall, frowning at me in confusion as he stands.

"Look, it's our first guest." Warren bites out the words and I don't miss the note of sarcasm this time. He drops my arm abruptly and grabs a chair with one hand, spinning it around with a twist of his wrist to rest in front of him. The slam of the chair legs on the stone is loud, and makes me jump. "Sit."

Every part of me wants to object, but a glance at Fletch confirms I shouldn't. He looks fearful, and he shakes his head at me.

I sit and wait while Warren lights a cigarette.

"So I was just wondering if you had any idea" – he crouches in front of me, his eyes locking with mine – "how the hell someone trains a fucking _owl_ to deliver letters?"

My mind whirls as I sort through my options. His eyes are that unnerving blue, but he's not trying to invade my mind yet. I suspect he's waiting to see if I'll tell the truth. I decide on the same tactic as before; almost- honesty is the best policy.

"I know – it's amazing isn't it! I think it's something he's been working on for ages, it's really impressive."

He tilts his head to the side, amused. "Very. Especially when he just leaves the letter on this" –he points to a stone window sill- "and the bird comes and picks it up hours later. How do you suppose he does that, do you think?"

I try and keep my eyes steady on his face. "I have no idea."

Then I feel it, a potent wave of energy invading my thoughts. I clench my teeth against it, concentrating on my mind blocks but it's too strong, and a random thought escapes out of me, like a leak in a dam.

It's of my Patronus – a single image of the wispy form of the silvery otter snaking out of the end of my wand. I think the thought comes to mind because it's a defensive spell, and I'm most certainly under attack.

He pulls back immediately; his eyes wide open and his thick eyebrows raised in shock. I watch him fearfully as the shock turns to glee and then a twisted expression taints his face – something akin to vicious desire.

Then there's a noise, a door banging, and Warren glances over my shoulder, his face perversely amused.

I spin my head around to see Harry, fists clenched and body rigid as he glowers past me to Warren.

Fletch picks up on the tension straight away and flies directly for Harry, lunging at his throat.

Harry gives him the barest of glances and holds up his hand. "Don't."

Fletch freezes in mid air, his eyes bugging as his breath seems to choke in his throat. Then he flies backwards, high in the air to crash heavily into the solid stone wall, finishing crumpled on the ground.

I'm so busy watching the astonishing display of wandless magic that I'm completely unprepared for Warren's arm when it locks painfully around my neck, pulling me hard up against him.

Harry stops his progress towards us at the exact same time that I feel a cool hard object pressing into my temple.

"Impressive. I knew there was something special about you."

Harry's glare is so intense, his eyes look black. He hasn't looked my way once.

"This is nothing to do with her."

Warren laughs, and pushes the cold steel painfully hard into my skull. I realise only then with a sickening certainty that I have a gun to my head.

"Oh, I think it's everything to do with her. And you're both gonna tell me everything that's going on here."

Harry appears calm, apart from a twitch I notice in his jaw.

"Whatever you want then. Let's sit down and talk, just us."

Warren laughs again, and this time it's maniacal, loud in my ear.

"Jamie, lad. You know me! Have I ever seemed stupid to you?"

When Harry stays quiet, Warren yells, it makes me wince.

"I said do I look _stupid_ to you?"

Finally Harry shakes his head, and glances at me. I send an apology with my eyes but he's already looking back up at Warren.

"I want to know everything. Every single fucking thing about what you can do, and how you do it. Or I _will_ kill her. You know I will Jamie. If that's even your name."

Harry rubs his forehead – his scar, I realise. His face is composed but that action shows me just how distraught he really is. I know he needs me further away from Warren if either of us are going to have any chance of getting away but it seems that Warren realises this too. Then Harry lifts his chin slightly, decision made. "Alright then. Take it."

The awe in Warren's voice is hard to miss. "You know I can do that?"

Harry nods curtly. Warren breathes out in a whistle.

"Oh this is gonna be fun."

I realise then how bad this is and I struggle, desperate to get away. I can feel how badly Warren wants this knowledge, but I still don't know how far he'd go to get it. I feel sick and responsible for falling for the fake letter and I shake my head as far as Warren's vice like grip will let me. I manage to speak.

"No, don't. Not for me."

"Shut up." Harry's response is cold and quick, but his glance at me is pleading, desperate. He moves slowly towards us until we're all in the centre of the room, only a few feet apart. Then he turns his palms out slowly and meets Warren's eyes, opening himself up for Warren to read his thoughts.

All I can see is Harry, and the pain etched on his face. I can almost feel the energy of Warren boring into his mind, extracting mental pictures. Harry bears up against it for a time and then he winces and sways, and a slow drip of blood trickles from his nostril as I watch. He falters, then he falls roughly to his knees and I cry out, the sound strangled by Warren's forearm pressing on my wind pipe. Then the tension eases as his arm relaxes.

I twist to look up at him and his face is alight with awe.

"Holy shit. I don't believe this." He looks down and seems to remember me; his arm closing tight around my throat again.

"The 'smartest witch of her age' eh?." He glances at Harry who's crouching now, regaining his breath. "And a lot less trouble than you, by the looks of it."

He smiles grimly, only one corner of his mouth pulls up.

"Sorry bout this, Jamie. Really, I am."

Faster than I give him credit for, he pulls the gun away from my temple and points it directly at Harry.

I see in that split second that his resolve is unwavering. There's not a second of hesitation in the steel blue eyes as his finger squeezes on the trigger. I lurch forward in his grip but it's too late.

"No!" The scream is torn from my throat and my eyes squeeze shut to the sharp crack of the gunshot, the sound so loud, my ears feel like they've been physically pierced, the pain shoots through my whole body.

My eyes refuse to open as my chest burns, the dread washing through me and I cling desperately to consciousness.

I don't realise my hands are over my face until I have to open my trembling fingers to see the room.

Warren's blue eyes are wide as he stares at me, but he is no longer next to me. He is now several feet across the room, his back against the wall. My eyes try and make sense of what I'm seeing, even as he slides slowly down, a dark smear staining the stone behind him as he does.

My ears are still ringing as I turn to Harry.

He has fallen back, braced on his hands, looking at Warren too. His eyes turn to me, as wide and uncomprehending as mine.

We both stare at each other for a second, then our heads turn in unison to the door.

Seth stands there, one foot forward in a sideways stance, his arms still straight out in front of him, his fingers gripped tightly in a firm hold around a large black gun.

He walks forward a little, keeping his eye still trained only on Warren. I glance back to the wall again to see Warren's eyes are still wide but lifeless now; his body slumped over to one side. I realise the dark smear behind him on the wall is glistening wet, a trail of blood so fresh that the tainted smell already reaches me.

"Seth..."

"Alright, Jamie?" Seth still hasn't lowered his gun, but glances down at Harry now. "You hurt?"

Harry shakes his head, and Seth offers his arm, I watch them from my position on the floor as they wrap one arm around each other hard, Harry thumping him on the back.

"You didn't listen to me."

Seth pulls back and grins. "Nah. And aren't you a lucky bastard for that."

I see Harry smile and the relief makes me giddy. I feel the floor tip from underneath me and I fall sideways onto the ground.

"Hermione!"

I feel Harry kneeling next to me; I grab his arm to squeeze it, to tell him that I'm so happy he's okay. But I feel sleepy all of a sudden, tired beyond belief and I just want to rest...

He's gripping me, shaking me, his hands pressing into my sides. I hear him swear and I open my eyes just briefly; he's holding me securely around my shoulders, his face close. I feel warm, content, glad this is all over.

"Hold on, baby." There's a note of desperation in his voice that makes me open my eyes properly this time. His features are contorted in pain, his eyes filled with water. I find it strange, stranger still when he brings up his hand to my face, and his fingers are covered in blood.

"Jamie... shit – you need to get her an ambulance."

Seth's voice is distant as is Harry's reply.

"I know...Fuck...I know..."

The room sways again and I realise he's lifting me up.

"Hey man, I don't think you should move her..."

"Shut up and listen. Give me that gun." I feel him adjust his hold on me momentarily. "Go, get out of here. Take money, my car – get out of town as far as you can. Lay low for a week and then call me."

"But..."

"They're coming for him tomorrow, the cops I told you about - for all of us if we're there. So you better be gone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, now go Seth, please. Get far away."

"This is... Jamie, this has been some _weird_ shit tonight. Will you be alright?..."

"We'll be fine, don't worry. I'll explain everything later. And Seth. Thank you."

It's the last thing I hear before I slip into a spinning darkness.

* * *

The smell that fills my nostrils is familiar, a clean, sharp odour.

I feel a pressure in my right side, like a weight pinning me down, before I open my eyes.

I'm in a bed, a hospital bed. The ornate decoration around the top of the ceiling is familiar – St Mungos I realise with a jolt.

Harry. My thoughts race to him and I move to sit up, causing a sharp burst of pain in my side.

"Lay still."

A hand presses on my shoulder and I look up to see it's his; he's sitting at my bedside, his eyes tired and troubled. There's a smear of blood on his cheek and the hand that grips mine and brings it to his lips is heavily bandaged.

"What...are you okay?" My croaky voice doesn't sound like my own.

He nods, smiling slightly, though his eyes are watery.

"Splinched myself." He holds up his hand. "Bit out of practice I guess."

I try and squeeze his hand but I feel incredibly weak.

"Just rest 'Mione. You're lucky to be alive."

My eyes widen at that. "I am?"

He nods and I can tell he's barely keeping his emotions in check.

"Seth got there just in time. He told me Fletch said he was going with Gripper to the church and I told him to stay put but luckily for both of us he didn't."

"So he..."

"He shot Gripper. Once he saw he was going to kill me." I flinch at that. He continues. "Either you or I threw him across the room; I don't know who." He bows his head over my hand that he's still holding between his two.

"But Gripper's shot still fired and when he was thrown, his gun was pointed at you."

I gently touch the dressing on my side and stare at him for a moment, but he doesn't look up.

"No Harry, don't you dare."

He shakes his head, still keeping his eyes down.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"Don't you dare make this your fault. It wasn't your fault. It was mine, Harry; I should have known that note wasn't from you."

He looks up at me then, pain in his eyes. "How? You couldn't have known. I should've realised he'd been following me to the church –watching me getting mail and sending it. He'd been reading it for a while."

I nod, the pieces of the ambush coming together now.

"I'm fine; I'm going to be fine." My blood feels cold though as I think of the moment where I truly thought he'd been shot. "It was you I was worried about."

He leans forward then and gently holds my face, kissing my forehead, then my lips.

"You should rest now."

I shake my head, and though it makes me feel woozy, I grit my teeth against the nausea, determined.

"I don't want to rest. I want to know everything. I need to hear everything."

He stares at me, and then tips back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. He looks exhausted, and I notice the early morning light coming through the window, he must have been there for so long. But I can't wait any longer. I need to know everything, now.

"Well, I brought you here, we apparated." He waves his bandaged hand. "A bit rusty, but we made it. And they looked after you." His voice cracks and I think about what he's done to get me here.

"But, have they recognised –

He nods as soon as I start talking, and interrupts.

"Yes they recognised me. Called the Weasley's nearly straight away – there's quite the gathering in the ward by now I expect. Luckily the head Healer on this ward knows you and is keeping us in this private room."

I close my eyes. "Sorry."

He laughs softly. "Don't be. It's probably about time."

I just nod at that. Then I remember.

"And Gripper – and the others? What happens with your job?"

He sighs and rubs his face. "It's over. It was over tonight anyway. The muggle cops were all over this shipment, with a little help from me. They were moving in the morning – though that plan's spoilt now." I glance at him apprehensive. "Gripper's dead."

I blow out a long breath. "Seth?"

"Far away by now I hope. He's not a bad guy, just caught up in the wrong scene. I don't think they've got him on their list; I'll have to find out. I'm going to try and help him move on – he's been wanting to." His smile is grim. "And now it's the least I can do I guess."

"What about Fletch?"

"He was the one they traced first so they'll catch him. He's got no brains without Gripper anyway."

I press my head back into the pillow, letting all the information wash over me. Then I open my eyes again.

"And you? What about the Unit?"

He sighs and folds his arms. "Well they've been here already, and I'll go for a full debrief as soon as I can. Then after that, I get a rest for a bit."

"And then?"

He shrugs, and leans forward, smoothing his thumb across my forehead. "And then we'll see."

I touch his face, happy with that answer for now. My eyelids feel suddenly heavy.

"Sleep now. I'll stay here."

I open my eyes again. "No you – you sleep too. You're exhausted."

"I'm okay."

"No really Harry, go and have a shower and a lie down, I'll just be sleeping."

His fingers are stroking my hair. "Shh, I'm fine."

"Will you bugger off! I don't want you watching me." I try and keep my eyes open but they drift shut. I hear the last thing he says though.

"It'll take more than a 'bugger off' to make me give up on you."

I remember, my own words from so long ago, and I smile.

* * *

I wake, slowly, to warmth and quiet.

Too much quiet.

I snap my eyes open, looking for him again.

He's not in the chair; I don't see his stuff anywhere. I push up with the arm on my good side, frowning through the dizziness.

"Harry..."

A door opens and he enters; a towel around his neck and half over his head, though he has his jeans and a fresh t shirt on. He glances at me in surprise.

"You're awake."

I fall back, more awkwardly than planned. He moves to my side, throwing off the towel. I try and ignore the pain in my head.

"You weren't here." I mumble the words, trying and failing not to sound pissed off.

He smiles gently and leans in to stroke my hair. I close my eyes to the feeling.

"I had a shower. Kreacher brought my things."

I nod and try to smile, wondering why I'm feeling so anxious. I try and explain.

"I just ...I always think you'll leave." The words come out almost slurred. "Like the first time –you'll just...leave."

When I open my eyes he's frowning at me. "I won't. I won't do that again." He leans in close, still stroking my hair and kisses me, closing his eyes. He stops but stays close and holds my gaze.

"I tried that once. It didn't work. I won't be leaving you again."

Something about what he just said rings some alarm with me, like he just said something crucially important but the haze I'm in won't let me make sense of it yet. But he moves closer still, wraps his arms around me as much as he can leaning over the bed and brushes his nose against mine. I give up trying to work it out and move my hand to his back, stroking my fingers back and forth.

Then I feel him jump before he pulls abruptly away and I finally notice the sound of footsteps and voices.

"...can''t keep us out forever we need to..."

I turn my head to the door and see three tall redheads have just walked in, followed closely by a protesting junior Healer. They've stopped, staring at us from halfway across the room, and I wonder how long they've been there.

Arthur speaks first.

"Harry. You're here."

I don't glance at Harry yet, waiting first for Ron's reaction. Charlie is the other Weasley there but he looks less stunned than the other two, he starts walking again first.

"Harry." Charlie walks over and holds a hand out to Harry who takes it, and lets himself be pulled into a hard hug. Arthur follows suit, but Ron remains motionless on the other side of the bed.

Charlie leans into me, kissing my check. "You alright, Hermione?"

I nod at him and try to smile. "I'm fine, really." My head throbs particularly painfully as if to prove me a liar but I manage not to let it show on my face.

Harry and Ron are still staring at each other across my bed, their expressions unreadable. Arthur looks on nervously, but Charlie appears either blissfully or shrewdly unaware of the tension.

"Wow, Harry that's some ink."

Harry glances down distracted. "Oh, yeah...uh..."

Charlie studies it and gives a low whistle. "A lot of hours in that."

Harry nods, looking back at Ron. I hold a hand out towards Ron, trying to break the atmosphere in the room. It works in a way; both of them look at me.

"Hermione." Ron seems to remember I'm there. He leans in and kisses me on the forehead then looks worriedly into my eyes.

"Are you okay?"

I nod and find his hand with mine, squeezing. "I'm fine."

He nods and pulls a chair closer, sitting next to me. I notice Harry sits slowly back down on his chair directly opposite Ron while Charlie and Arthur stand discreetly at the end of the bed.

No one speaks for a moment and I frown, trying to think of the best approach. Then Ron speaks up.

"Alright, Harry?"

Harry's mouth twitches into not quite a smile. "I'm good, Ron. What about you?"

Ron's grin is less restrained. "Good. It's good to see you. Even though the circumstances..." He gestures at me. I feel a wave of affection for him.

Harry smiles too. "You too. It's really good to see you."

They grin at each other and I feel faint with relief. Either that, or just faint.

"I got your letter. Thanks." Harry casually grabs my other hand while he speaks. Ron nods.

"Good. You should've come back sooner."

Harry smiles and nods, squeezing my hand. Ron looks at me smiling slightly and says one more thing.

"Daft prick."

Harry grins then and I laugh, though the sound comes out weaker than I thought. Ron turns back to me.

"And you. Luna told us you've been keeping it a secret that you knew where he was. You could've told me." He's scowling and I think it's just like him to be mad at me more than Harry. I roll my eyes, which is a terrible idea for my headache.

"So I wanna know everything."

My head throbs and thankfully Arthur speaks up. "Maybe not now, Ron. Give Hermione some time, she still looks very pale."

Harry nods. "I'll fill you in." He stands up and Ron does too, I notice him staring openly at Harry's tattoos now, his mouth slightly open. Harry bends to me and kisses my forehead but his hand lingers on my face slightly; I see Ron watching us carefully and I realise he doesn't miss that. His expression when I look at him is thoughtful, but calm.

"You rest, we'll all still be here – outside."

I nod, relived I didn't have to do much talking then, I was sure I wasn't up to it. The junior comes forward to administer my draught and I'm grateful, feeling quite poorly now. The Weasley men move to leave the room and Harry taps my toes as he passes.

"You'll be alright?"

I nod quietly and manage to speak. "Will you?"

He smiles. "Yeah. I'll be back, I won't leave alright? I promise."

I close my eyes and nod. I believe him.

* * *

 _I was standing, you were there_

 _Two worlds collided_

 _And they could never tear us apart._

* * *

When I wake next, the ward is dark and his body is warm, curved around mine.

"Harry?"

I feel him laugh slightly, the sound low and warm.

"Yeah – who else were you expecting? One of your billionaire boyfriends?"

I smile and burrow into his chest. Taking stock of my body, I realise I feel much better, the pain in my side just a dull ache now. I remember suddenly the last time I was awake.

"How did everything go?"

He squeezes me. "Good. I don't deserve him either."

I frown and push back to look at him. "I wish you'd stop saying that."

He smiles and kisses the top of my head, pulling me into him again. "I don't. I was a real asshole, the way I left him. It doesn't make it okay, but I did have my reasons."

I try and pull back again, but find I don't have as much strength as I thought. I sigh and shuffle closer still, breathing in the scent of his skin at his neck.

"What were your reasons?"

"Mmm."

I squeeze him. "Harry?"

"You should sleep 'Mione. You've got lots of healing to do."

I shake my head against him. "No. Tell me."

I feel his chest expand as he takes a deep breath and I wait.

"Do I have to say? Really?"

I frown in to the darkness. "What do you mean?"

He breathes out audibly.

I wait, but feel myself drifting back to sleep again. I try and shake it off but I'm too drowsy. I make one last effort and mumble 'Harry?'

He strokes my hair, and makes a shushing noise. I try and resist, knowing there's something I want to know, things I need to know, but his arms are firm around me and his fingers stroking my hair are lulling me back into sleep. I feel him bend to kiss my cheek as I slip unwillingly back into black.

* * *

The next morning I feel great.

And frustrated.

I want to get out of here, but everyone is fussing – the Healers, Harry, Ron. Luna is the only one on my side who agrees that if I think I'm alright then I'm fine. I truly love her.

Her reunion with Harry was lovely. She came by this morning and saw me, greeting Harry with just a warm hug and a smile, as if she'd just seen him the day before. I can tell he was really happy to see her, and grateful she needed no explanations.

And Ron has been incredible. I thought he would be hurt, or angry. But whatever they said to each other last night seems to be all they needed; there's no tension between them that I can notice, in fact they seem to be doing well in teaming up against me.

"I've told you I'm fine. I just want to be in my own bed."

Ron tries again. "But there's no harm in you staying one more night, just in case." He tries to push me gently back down as I stand up from the bed.

I glare up at him, and I can see Harry suppressing a smile beside him.

"I'm going. You guys can do what you like."

Arthur comes in then, and becomes an unexpected ally.

"Look if she wants to go, I think she should be able to make that decision, she's a big girl now, and a competent healer, she wouldn't..."

Ron interrupts. "Give over, Dad – we know you just want to ride in Harry's car with her."

Arthur looks sheepish as he picks up my bag, but his excitement is easy to spot as he glances at Harry. "Well I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind the company. Just in case she has a relapse on the way home or something." He trails off, but starts jigging his leg excitedly.

Ron rolls his eyes. "Well you can have co pilot status then. I'll apparate over later to check on you 'Mione."

"Like I said it's not really necessary, I'm completely fine to apparate you know..."

Harry and Ron answer me together. "No you're not."

I make a face at them, but can't help smiling.

After steadfastly refusing a wheelchair, we make our way as a group out of the hospital. Harry stands close to me and I try not to lean too heavily on his arm as we walk.

Luna walks in front, levitating the flowers and cards I've been sent, which is why I don't see Ginny until she's right in front of us.

"Harry."

I feel his body freeze and tense next to mine, and my own heart drops to my feet.

He grips me tighter. I don't know if that's for his or my benefit really, but I'm glad he's holding me upright. He seems to recover first though.

"Hi, Ginny."

Her face is torturous to look at, the gauntlet of emotions she's running through painfully clear on her pretty features. Finally she settles on a glare.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence."

I can't see Harry's face, but he leans just slightly closer to me. He says nothing.

She turns hostile eyes on me.

"And so you lied to me. I asked you point blank – and you lied to me."

My mouth opens, even though I know I have no idea what to say to that. Ron rescues me.

"Ginny." His voice is low and threatening. "It's not the time or place. Come on." He steps forward and grabs her arm, but she snatches it angrily out of his grip. Her eyes have travelled back to Harry, burning into him. She glances down at his arm, the tattooed sleeve visible from the bicep down and her eyes widen slightly but her glare doesn't soften. Then she turns on her heel and stalks off.

Ron follows; turning and giving me an apologetic shrug before he trots off after her.

I feel terrible, and horribly cold all of a sudden. Harry squeezes my arm as we start walking again.

"Now don't worry too much about that." Arthur's voice is near my ear, I hadn't noticed him move next to me. "She's still young is our Ginerva. She doesn't think she is, but she'll see it one day."

I don't know exactly what he means, but I squeeze his arm, grateful for his reassurance. He starts asking Harry about the car, and his enthusiasm is so infectious, I start to feel calmer soon.

I listen to his babbling as we drive along – 'just _marvellous_ , how they manage to get it accelerating with _no_ magic, none!' – and stare out the window. Luna is humming an indistinct tune and I glance at Harry's eyes in the rear vision mirror. He seems at ease, patiently answering all of Arthur's questions, although his brow is slightly furrowed I see. He glances back at me so I swiftly look out the window.

I watch the houses rush by and I think back to Ginny's eyes, so full of emotion as she stared at Harry. I fight down a fresh wave of nausea that has nothing to do with my injuries.

* * *

 _Come to me now and lay your hands over me_

 _Even if it's a lie, say it will be alright_

 _And I shall believe._

* * *

"I told Ron I would. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

I paste on a smile. "Of course. Luna's popping back soon."

Harry nods but his eyes are still worried. I force my smile wider.

"Harry, I'll be fine. Molly will be dying to see you, it'll be great."

My voice sounds even and strong, I'm proud of my performance. He nods again, though his expression is still uncertain.

"I'm not so sure about that."

"She will be Harry. Everyone will."

He sits down on the edge of my bed and gently holds my face between his hands. "Okay. I won't be late." He stares at me for a moment, and then kisses me softly.

"Take your time. Stay, if you like." I don't know why I can't seem to stop talking.

He frowns. "You don't want me to come back?"

"No, yes of course, I mean..." I sigh. "I just mean – do what you want to do. I'm fine, really."

His eyes narrow slightly and then he leans in and kisses my forehead. "Then I'll come back."

"Sure." My voice is starting to fail and I wish he'd hurry up and leave.

He stands and walks to the door, turning to look at me once before he's gone, to The Burrow.

Lyrics credit: Never Tear Us Apart by Inxs, I Shall Believe by Sheryl Crow.


	11. Chapter 11

Come Undone

Chapter 11

The final chapter. To everyone who's still reading and especially to those who reviewed, you're so awesome, thank you. Seriously, I'm stoked that you followed. Thanks x

* * *

 _Here in the dark in these final hours._

* * *

When I said goodbye to him yesterday, he wouldn't look me in the eye.

I don't think I was imagining it.

He had to go for the full debrief and it would take a few days. I breathed in the smell of the leather as I pressed my face into his shoulder. He kissed me then, and I didn't miss the desperate edge to it.

I don't know where my courage has gone, but I can't bear to think, let alone ask, if it was because it might be our last kiss.

When he'd come back from The Burrow the night before, he was quiet, and I hadn't questioned him, feigning tiredness. We'd lain wrapped in each other in my bed saying nothing, and when I woke in the middle of the night to see him on the window sill again, I started to fear the worse. I just watched him as the smoke curled into the night air from his lips, his brow creased in thought. When he came back to bed eventually I knew he still lay there awake for a long time and I was weak, I turned into him and ran my hands over his warm skin, kissing his jaw and throat and he instantly responded. I needed him one more time. That desperate edge was there, in every movement and sound but I blocked it out, trying to ignore the urgency underlying our every breath. I slept in his arms afterwards and I could pretend for just that moment that I didn't feel like time was running out.

Now I can't bear it. I want to run; I want to be anywhere but here.

I want to be gone before it happens. Before he works it out, and I have to see it.

I can't watch him go back to Ginny.

Part of me fights it – says I'm being silly. Reminds me of the nights I've spent with him, the looks exchanged and the passion, the time he said he loved me and meant it, I know he did. My logical brain tells me he at least _wants_ me, I can feel that, it's obvious in his touch. But my self preservation is kicking in, trying to protect me like it did at school, though I know I'm in deeper now than I ever was. There's more at stake than ever before and it's making me shut down – to protect myself from a hurt I truly don't think I can take. I know I can handle a lot. But I don't know if I can stand this.

I try and busy myself so I _don't_ think too much, even going back to work that day –to everyone's horror.

But I need to – it's part of the walls I feel going up. I want to believe that what we've had is strong, is real – but I can't help analysing it, seeing now every time we had sidestepped defining what we were doing. The unspoken presence has always been Ginny, and my knowledge that she is the one he is _in_ love with. With him gone, just these few days, I can look at it with more perspective and it sobers me. I've been living a fairytale – and I didn't read ahead to the last page. I didn't check for my happy ending.

I take off to my parents for the night.

They didn't know I was hurt; there was no need to tell them. A clean gun shot wound like mine can be fairly trivial for a magical Healer, but my Mum and Dad would have been absolutely horrified and worried to death. Still, I feel like seeing them, and even having Mum fuss over me. She knows something is up but she doesn't press it, just cooks me dinner and sits close while I eat it. When I go to bed in my old room she comes in and hugs me, stroking my hair while I try not to cry over her shoulder. I need the Dreamless Sleep Charm to get any rest that night.

But the next morning I'm stronger. I can't pretend I'll be able to live with Harry going back to Ginny but I'm going to be proud enough not to show it. I'm not going to feel sorry for myself. And I'm not going to cry.

No matter what, when he tells me, I'm not going to cry.

* * *

"Hermione?"

"Wha? Oh.. sorry Ron."

"You sure you're okay?"

"If you ask me that _one_ more time Ronald, I swear..."

"Okay okay. You just seem...weird."

"Great, thanks."

"You know what I mean."

I glare at him and fidget with my stupid dress. This gathering was the worst idea ever. "Harry's going to hate this."

He frowns. "I know. What d'ya do though?"

Molly bustles around us then, moving the nibbles on the table we're standing next to by a mere fraction and then moving on. She raises her wand to drape more yellow ribbons on the tree overhead, ignoring us completely in favour of squinting critically at her decorations.

"Ron, did you get those extra chairs?"

"God Mum, how many people did you invite to this thing? Harry's going to hate this."

Molly turns and scowls at her youngest son, bristling. "Now what kind of attitude is that? It's just a welcome home party. It's been a long time and..." She cuts off as her eyes start to fill with water and I really realise then, if I hadn't before, her investment in Harry. It goes beyond her children's relationships with him, and it makes me think in that moment of Lily and James. I feel a bit teary myself then and look away as she snaps a final reply at Ron. "Just make yourself useful."

Ron shrugs and picks up a chicken wing from a plate. A sharp crack splits the air before he drops it, yelping. Molly glares at him and hurries off.

I sigh. "Well why did you tell her when he'd be back?" I know it's unfair to be mad at Ron, but I can't help it.

"I didn't! It was bloody Percy - he overheard me the other night! It's _him_ who left the message with Kreacher for Harry; I'm keeping well out of it!"

"Oh." I fold my arms moodily.

He gives me one of the new smiles that he's been using on me lately, a knowing, almost smug grin with a hint of worry in it. We haven't spoken about me and Harry, but I know he knows something is going on between us. I avoid his look and speak again.

"Well he's going to hate it," I sniff.

"I think we've established that."

Molly comes running towards the gathering then and groups us in a loose circle around the garden of The Burrow – newly landscaped thanks to one of George's contacts I'd heard. It looks lovely, with pavers and plants, low benches and a small pond – and even nicer tonight with a magical marquee floating overhead and hundreds of fairy lights hovering in mid air.

Everyone looks nice too, in dress robes or fairly formal wear as per Molly's instruction. And though I thought that ridiculous, I have to admit the whole effect is very sophisticated. I look over at Ginny, her hair swept up elegantly from her face, the length of it left to trail down her back. She's wearing a long green dress in a muggle style that hugs her figure.

I smooth my palms on my own plain blue dress that just nips in at the waist and look hastily around for a full glass of champagne.

I breathe deeply, inviting calm. So he's back tonight – that's fine. Maybe I'll get a chance to talk to him, maybe I won't. But I've decided to make it easy. Just tell him he can take some time out to himself and sort things through and then pretend I'm happy for him when he rediscovers Ginny. Put our last few weeks down to circumstances. It won't be so hard.

But then he walks into the garden, stunned as he is quietly mortified – Molly all smiles by his side as she quickly slings a set of dress robes on him over his t shirt and faded jeans and buttons it up. She's beaming and crying as she reaches up and cups his face, kissing him on his cheeks and smoothing the folds of the robe.

His eyes dart around the party and I can almost hear his internal groan but he smiles gamely at Molly, nodding at whatever she's saying and taking the fuss good naturedly.

"Well he hasn't bolted, that's a start." Ron chuckles slightly.

I nod into my glass and take another large swallow.

I watch as Molly steers Harry near Ginny, who eyes him coolly but nods in his direction. I look away before I can see his reaction.

I stay on the fringes of the party and manage to avoid him, which isn't hard with Molly steering him around to everyone. I catch eyes with him once and he smiles; I wave cheerily back which is weird and then I bury my nose in my glass again.

I have to get out of here.

* * *

 _I wanted to touch you_

 _But we stop when we start_

 _I wanted to hold you, hold you_

 _But here we are._

* * *

I'm tired and my feet hurt.

My head even hurts, with one of those hangovers you get before you stop drinking – where the alcohol isn't even affecting you, it's just making you feel tired and crappy.

And Harry is off somewhere with Ginny.

She came up to him about ten minutes ago and wrapped her hand around his wrist. He looked at her as she inclined her head and then let her lead him into the house.

This, I decide, is my cue to leave.

I give up all pretence and take off my shoes, walking barefoot across the grass to the apparition point around the back of the house. Molly likes to be organised and a responsible host – and a safe apparition point for drinkers is a good precaution. I feel like apparating where I stand, but I don't plan on saying any goodbyes, so I figure I can at least follow the rules.

Luckily Ron is caught in the middle of an animated story as I sneak past, his eyes follow me as I duck behind his audience and he gives me a vague wave- but I see the flicker of concern in his eyes.

I hurry off; glad I don't have to give any lame excuses.

 _This is really your own fault you know._ I squeeze my eyes shut against my inner voice, willing it to shut up. There'll be plenty of time to torture myself when I get home.

I'm so distracted with controlling my thoughts that it takes me a while to recognise the shadowy outline sitting on the low stone wall facing the sunset.

My heart jumps when I do and I spin around, looking for Ginny, or anyone else. But there's just me, and him, behind the house that's bathed in the cool amber from the setting sun.

Back here, we're hidden from the view of the guests in the garden though I can still hear the low buzz of all their voices.

He hasn't turned around yet and I debate just leaving.

But I know before I start moving towards him that I won't – I can't. I can't stop being drawn to him, I never can.

He turns his head to me in surprise as I step over the low wall and sit next to him. I don't look at him, just out at the horizon.

"Hey."

I smile. "How are you doing?"

He shrugs and smiles weakly and my breath catches in my throat. I can't bear this if he's going to break it to me gently. I want to say something so that he won't start talking but I can't make myself think. He's taken the robe off now, sitting there in his t shirt and jeans, looking too good to me. He rubs his arm absently.

"Eleven."

"What?"

"Eleven. That's how many times Molly reminded me that with magic she could remove all of my tattoos 'relatively painlessly' in about eight to twelve hours."

I laugh at that, despite the cold dread in my stomach. He grins at me and I relax a little. Even enough to think maybe I can handle this. It's Harry, after all.

I reach out and touch the tattoo on his forearm gently, the latest one of the stag, but pull my fingers away quite quickly. "I don't know. I kinda like them. They suit you." I murmur. When I glance up at him he's watching me carefully. I clear my throat and keep talking.

"And so how many 'where have you been's did you get then?"

"Lost count. And I gave a lot of the same answer. 'Work, Unspeakables.' Saved a lot more questions."

I wince. "You hated it."

He nods, but his eyes are soft. "It was fine. It was good to see everyone really, especially little Teddy."

I swallow hard, and look away from his eyes, trying hard to prepare myself. He speaks again.

"I was just about to come and find you."

Here it comes. I paste on a smile. "Me?"

"You."

I blow out a long slow breath then squeeze my eyes shut and open them again.

"It's okay, Harry."

"What's okay?"

I turn to him, staring at his hands.

"I know...you and me. I know it was all a bit..." I trail off, trying to order my thoughts as they rapidly unravel. "It's okay if you want to..."

I swallow and close my eyes again. _Say it._ I open my eyes and look at him which makes my voice even weaker.

"...go back to normal."

He inclines his head slightly, frowning. He studies me like that for a while and I try and fail to smile. I bite my lip and wish desperately that he'd get this over with.

He looks away then, down at the grass, and then out to the scarlet tinged view.

Finally he speaks.

"Is that what you want?"

I grit my teeth. "Please, Harry just..."

He whips his head around to look at me and interrupts. "Is that what you _want?_

I don't answer because I can't bear to lie.

He breathes out a heavy breath and leans forward on his knees, staring at the ground.

Then he starts talking.

"When the war ended, I thought everything would be...perfect. Like some fairytale with a happy ending – even if I tried to tell myself I wouldn't think of a future, I had – my whole happily ever after mapped out in front of me."

"But I wasn't prepared for the...emptiness. There was no purpose, no reason behind anything. I thought there would be relief but I felt...worse. All this strange guilt for surviving and for everyone who was lost, like I hadn't actually done anything the right way, I'd stuffed up."

I fight my every urge to reach out to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

He shakes his head. "How could you? I never let you in. I think I even avoided you, especially. I thought I could handle it – I thought we could handle it, me and Ginny."

I can't help it – my body tenses at the sound of her name. I focus on sitting as still as possible.

"But that was it. She couldn't help me – she didn't know. She didn't want to know – all she wanted was to focus on this fairytale ending _she_ had, she even described it to me."

"You and Ron, me and her, dropping our kids off at the Hogwarts Express for their first day of school – this happy family portrait. I didn't want to burst her bubble, but the thought just left me...cold."

"First – I think it was the thought of all that happiness when so much tragedy had just happened; it rubbed my guilt up the wrong way. And then it was..."

He stops for a moment and I'm tempted to tell him to go on but I wait – my breathing shallow.

"Then it was you. The thought of you with... having Ron's kids."

He keeps his eyes on the grass in front of him. "It didn't make sense that I felt bad about that. But I couldn't get the image out of my head and how it made me feel ...wrong and sad and...something else I couldn't work out."

"So I ignored it. Pretended I'd never had those thoughts, but when I'd see you or when I was around you, I started seeing you ...differently. It started to hurt _._ And then everything just started to fall apart even more."

His fingers have gone to his forehead, absently rubbing his scar as he talks. I chew my lip, trying to follow what he's saying.

"Then one day in an argument, she asked me about you. She just came out and said 'You're in love with her, aren't you.' And I didn't mean to – I didn't even know I was going to say it until I said...yes."

My breathing stops altogether and my lips actually fall open. He keeps his head down and carries on.

"And that was it. It all fell apart from there, no matter how much I tried to tell myself what I _should_ be feeling – and how much it messed everything up, all I could think about was how _stupid_ I'd been." He picks a blade of grass from the ground between his feet. "I was so blind and stupid."

"I should have known there was something wrong in the way that I never let myself think too deeply about you –at school, on the Horcrux hunt. Whenever I started to, I just blocked you out."

He drops the grass, still not looking at me; it's almost as if he's talking to himself now.

"But the worst was what that meant for Ron. Even if you had no feelings for me at all – I was the worst kind of friend. First I put him through getting used to the idea of me liking his sister and now, worse, I would have had to tell him I was in love with his girlfriend. Despite all the stupid reassurances I'd given him."

"And I couldn't do it." He breathes out slowly. "I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I stay still – letting the feeling wash over me. That it was me – I was the one he'd had to stay away from. The girl Angie was talking about.

He shifts, turning to me again as if he just remembers I'm there.

"And so when The Unit approached me, it seemed perfect. Like the best way to take myself out of the equation." He rubs the back of his neck, in something like exhaustion. "I thought that was best. And then I thought everyone could be happy."

This stirs me from my daze. "I would never have been happy."

He looks down at me and smiles, sadly. I shake my head, suddenly finding my voice now.

"I couldn't be happy without you. You never really got that did you?"

His eyes study me in the fading light, frowning. He lifts a hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. I move closer.

"I choose you. I always have. I suppose I was always going to wait for you to choose me back. I just never thought you would."

He stares at me, his gaze travelling over my face. Then he brings me to him and kisses me, pulls me on top of him so I'm in his lap.

There's no time anymore, I'm not even aware of my body. It's just him, the warmth of him, and the feel of his heart beating against my chest. When I wrap my arms around him, he rakes my hair back from my face and neck and pulls back just slightly to look at me. And I feel like I'm finally here – where I was supposed to be all along. Strange, like I was made for him, and he was made for me.

"If I'd never come back, this...I would still be somewhere far away, still without you."

I shake my head and press my face into his neck. "No. You would've found your way back to me. Or I would have found you. But it doesn't matter now you're here. Nothing matters anymore."

He turns his face to mine, so he's whispering into my cheek.

"If ever...if I ever made you feel like I didn't want you..."

He pulls back gently, so he can see my eyes. "I didn't mean to. It was just...I wanted you too much. And I wanted the best for you. And with everything – he makes a gesture back to the Burrow – I didn't think I was what was best for you." He wipes tears from my face that I didn't realise were there. Then he presses his cheek against mine and says the next into my ear- I hear a hint of a smile in his voice. "But I couldn't stay away."

I just shake my head and hug him again, burying my face in his neck.

He kisses my bare shoulder, then murmurs against my skin. "I'll look after you."

I smile and close my eyes.

"I'll look after you back."

* * *

In the dark, he tells me everything.

Everything he felt and could never say.

And I say it back now. I couldn't stop if I tried. I've learnt, through it all, the most important thing.

How it feels to live without him.

And so, I know I'll make sure I never have to.

* * *

 _For you_

 _There'll be no more crying_

 _For you, the sun will be shining_

 _Cause I feel that when I'm with you_

 _It's alright._

 _Everything's right._

* * *

"So...you ready to go in yet?"

"Nope. Sorry," I say.

"It's okay." He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and shifts his hips deeper into the seat. I can tell he's not annoyed or impatient at me and I'm grateful, and feel a warm rush of affection for it. Though it's more than that. It's always more than that.

"So what do you want to talk about now?"

"Tell me how you managed to stay hidden for a whole year. The charms you used I mean, because you said you didn't use a Secret Keeper." Of all the questions I'd asked him over the last few days, that was one that was still bugging me.

He raises his eyebrows smiling slightly. "A charm our Hermione doesn't know?" He makes an 'O' with his mouth. "I'm shocked."

I punch him lightly on the arm. "Just hurry up and tell me."

He smiles and rubs his neck. "It's a speciality of The Unit. Kinda like a Fidelius Charm but stronger and more personal. I'll show you sometime."

I nod slowly, trying to think of more questions, anything to delay the inevitable.

"And what about in your training, how did..."

He interrupts. "I've told you everything about the training. Weapons, fight training, learning to drive. You'll find out yourself soon anyway." He taps the steering wheel. "Are we really going to sit here all night?"

I glance at him sheepishly. "Maybe?"

He smiles at me, then reaches across and rests his hand on the back of my neck, rubbing slightly. "You've got nothing to worry about you know."

I grimace but I don't say anything.

He studies me, frowning, but I know he's in no real hurry either. He rubs his thumb along the spot where my shoulder meets my neck.

"I've got a question for you now, then."

I look up in surprise. "What is it?"

He watches me for a moment, sucks on his top lip contemplating, before speaking.

"Would you have really been okay to 'go back to normal'? As you put it?"

I flush, even though we have no secrets now. I answer him looking out the front windscreen.

"No. I would've _tried_ to hide it though. I've kinda got good at that. Over the years. But no, I couldn't. I would have taken off."

He nods, and picks up my hand, resting it in his.

"That's good. Because I couldn't have either. I'm completely crap at hiding it."

I laugh and shake my head. "No – you're good! I never suspected... Never, anything." I feel shy again for some reason and look at my hands. He bends to catch my eye again.

"Really? Never?" I shake my head and he continues. "Not even with the whole – 'What did you fail at' thing?"

I screw my face up, confused. "What...?"

"When you asked me what I failed at in my test and I said it was when they asked me if there was anyone I couldn't leave behind..."

I breathe in sharply, my hand over my mouth. "That was... _me?_ "

It's his turn to laugh and then he leans in and pulls on my neck to bring me closer. He kisses me slowly on the lips before answering.

"Yeah. Duh."

I grin against his mouth and duck my head. I don't know if I'll ever get used to this. _Us_ , that's he's mine.

"Oh." It's the most eloquent response I can manage.

"So, you see you've got nothing to worry about. It's always been you. Even when I didn't realise it."

I grab his hand from my neck and kiss his palm, then trace the time turner etched on his wrist. He nods at it, then makes me look him in the eyes.

"See. Always you."

I shake my head. "Well, I can't believe _you_ ever doubted _me_. That you thought I was going to regret being with you, that I didn't really 'know what I was doing'..."

He kisses me hard to stop me talking and rehashing what he'd admitted to the night before. I laugh.

He looks out the front windscreen, squinting a little, then back at my lips.

"So, as much as I'd be happy to sit here in the car making out with you all night – he leans in and kisses my neck to illustrate the point – I think we're gonna have to face the music sometime."

I sigh – I know he's right. And I know I'm being silly. It's only the one person that I'm worried about; Ron's already told me that everyone but her is fine about us. Arthur, George, even Molly is just happy to have Harry back and not that shocked about me and him. Ron said that Molly even told Ginny off for not 'letting it go', that 'if her and Harry were meant to be, it would've turned out that way'. Ginny didn't take that little speech too well apparently.

I hug him, pressing my face into his shoulder. He's right; it's time to face the music. Maybe one day Ginny will come around. Everyone seems to think so. And when I think about it, she barely spoke to me much in the last year or so anyway, so there won't really be that much difference.

Besides, the person I should really be worrying about the most is the one who's been the happiest for us. Ron is even claiming it was his idea, what with that talk we had at the pub a while back. I think I'll keep letting him think that too.

Even still, it will take a while to be comfortable being around everyone, knowing that they know how I feel about Harry. I don't know why. Old habits die hard I suppose.

We pull apart and Harry searches my face.

"I know what you're thinking. But I've told her, how it is. There's not room for doubt. And you know it's not like she's been that fair to you 'Mione. She lied to you too."

I shrug. "I know. It's just...I think it's just because I know what it feels like. I know what it feels like to want someone you can't have, that's right in front of you and you can't do anything about it."

"Mmm." He rubs his hand through his slightly longer hair. "I'm kinda familiar with that too."

He glances over at me and we both break into maybe slightly inappropriate smiles.

I look away and rub the dashboard.

"You know, I quite like travelling by car. I can see why you insist on still doing it." I look up at the ceiling, then back at the upholstery of the back seat. "It's a nice car. The Unit must have some finances. What did you say it was...a Shelby... Mustang?"

"Stop stalling."

"Right." I swallow, trying to still the butterflies. He squeezes my hand.

"Hey you know; if you want we could apparate to Vegas, make it official first..."

I whip around with a yelp and slap his leg; he's laughing at me. But his teasing helps me relax and I laugh too, and then take a deep breath.

"Okay then. Let's get this over with."

* * *

We're a team, Harry and I. We always have been, always will be. It's the thing that's always tied us together, but sometimes I think that both of us were scared of the potential of a partnership like ours. I'm not now. It's everything I could have imagined it might be.

We have a party at Grimmauld, a few nights before we go away.

Everyone comes, apart from Ginny.

She is coming around to things though. On her good days at least. But when the whole Weasley family has accepted us with open arms, she doesn't really have much choice I suppose.

Especially because Ron's been so good about it all.

He brings me a drink, still grumbling about the walk to get refills, because we can't use magic tonight. The room is dimly lit, the music loud to fill the tall ceilings of the dark house at number twelve.

Ron clinks his drink clumsily with mine.

"To honesty."

I frown. Ron always gets deep when he drinks. "To honesty?"

He nods, and wraps an arm around me. "Honestly Mione? I always knew. I always knew it should be you and him. I knew he deserved you. I just let my ego stand in the way of that for a while."

I roll my eyes and cup his jaw with my palm, not caring that some of the _many_ girls in the room who feel some claim on him can see.

"You 'deserved me' too Ron."

He grins and kisses my cheek. "I still have you. The way I was always supposed to – my best friend." We both smile and catch Harry walking towards us at the same time. "My other best friend" he amends.

"Hey what's going on here..."

I smile, mostly at the fact that his voice still brews butterflies in my stomach.

"Moving in on your girl."

"Figures."

We all laugh at that, and I have a moment of the surreal as I look up at these two men and feel a warm satisfaction sweep through me.

Then Ron frowns. "I still think you're mad."

I roll my eyes again and Harry shakes his head. I loop my arm through Ron's and look up at him.

"You know, the offer is still open. We still need more on the team."

Ron makes a face. "Well, when you get a job somewhere exotic and hot, then let me know. I might be up for it then."

We laugh and then he turns serious.

"But you will keep in touch, right?"

Harry nods. "Yup – but only through Capella okay? And we'll pop back whenever we can."

Then the reason that we can't use magic walks up; Angie sways over to us. She looks gorgeous – so much better than the last I'd seen her, the weight she's finally put on really suits her. She's dressed fairly demurely – her top is low cut, but it covers her midriff for once. She smiles and clinks glasses with us, and I catch her look over my shoulder. I know who she's looking at. She and Charlie have been exchanging appreciative glances all night.

The group seems to like Angie, though no one understands why she calls Harry 'Jamie' but she says she can't see him as a Harry, even though she knows now. I wonder what she makes of all of us. She knows now that we were school friends, but she doesn't question much. She's even spent the last hour talking to Luna, they get on really well. And I think she's just happy to still have 'her Jamie' in her life.

I liked having her around too. She'd brought us a CD from Seth; he's been writing songs for a new band up north that's tipped to be the next big thing. Harry had helped make sure that neither Seth nor Angie was under surveillance and had helped them get their lives back on track. Watching her at the party – she seems so much lighter and free and I'm truly happy for her.

Harry bends to my ear.

"So, you think you're ready?"

I nod, staring sternly up at him, because we've been through this a thousand times. "You know I am. You don't need to worry about me Harry."

He frowns at my expression and then grins. "Oh, not the job. Don't worry – I know your whole 'independence speech' by heart." He sighs and pulls me into him. "I actually mean, being away ...from each other. For the time it takes to settle in. Because I don't think I'm going to handle it."

I wind my arms around his waist, feeling anxious for the first time that night.

"Don't talk about it yet. Plus we don't have to be so careful with magic this time. I'll be able to sneak away and...we've got two nights yet anyway."

He squeezes me tightly, and moves his mouth close to my ear again.

"Exactly. Only two. So let's get the hell out of here."

I laugh and rest my head on his chest.

* * *

H

We're in. They're happy to deal with us – we've passed the test.

So tomorrow, next to The Hilton – The White Bar, 11pm.

I love you.

H x

* * *

 _I lean my head against the wall and the bass pulses relentlessly through my brain._

 _I don't mind. I close my eyes and enjoy it._

 _Drita taps my arm. "Come with me to the bathroom?"_

 _I nod, because she won't hear my response._

 _She grasps my hand and I follow her through the heaving crowd._

 _He'll be here by now._

 _I suppress the thrill that flips my stomach and concentrate on making it through the last few steps to the queue for the bathroom. I ignore a few guys who walk past, pressing too close and ribbing each other._

 _Drita jigs up and down in front of me. "Oh god, I can't wait this long."_

 _I smile and lean against the wall to wait._

 _I've really started to like Drita. She's a sweet girl – caught up in a bad situation, and I feel sorry for her. The usual story._

 _She reminds me a bit of Angie._

 _And it's not her fault who her brothers are. I look over at them; I can just see Flamur and then Agron, opening two new bottles of hugely expensive champagne in their VIP area. They're handsome, both of them, with their dark eyes and flawless smooth skin, I can see how their charm works on most people._

 _Not me._

 _I grit my teeth watching them laughing and spilling their champagne over the many rings on their fingers. Luxuries afforded to them by money made from trafficking innocent women from Albania to the UK. I turn away, trying not to think on it too much._

 _That's not the only reason why we're here though. Flamur has begun to notice, and enjoy, how he can move things with just his mind. He's told Agron, but Agron is still sceptical, waiting for more evidence. This is lucky, because of the two; it's Agron who has the most potential._

 _By the time we head back to join them, I'm back in control of my emotions, and I flash Flamur a sweet smile as he offers me a champagne flute. But it's Agron who takes mine and Drita's wrists, walks us over to a new arrival on the couches._

" _Drita, Lily, meet an associate of ours. We'll be doing business with him in the future."_

 _The new arrival stands, smiling first at Drita and then unleashing startling green eyes on me. I smile, just a small one, and clink my glass with his. He is well dressed, in a white collared shirt, an unmistakeable air of money around him. He is handsome, his hair medium length, jet black and tousled, in an unintentionally messy way. The other thing remarkable about his appearance is the small glimpse of a tattoo at his neck, and another just visible at his wrist._

 _That, and a faint scar that looks a little like a lightning bolt on his forehead._

 _Drita speaks for both of us. "Pleased to meet you. What did you say your name was?"_

 _He grins, green eyes sparking._

" _Sirius."_

 _We're a team Harry and I. We always have been, always will be._

 _It's the thing that's always tied us together, but maybe both of us were scared of the potential of a partnership like ours._

 _The Unit sees it though. And makes the most of it._

 _And me, I don't care, so long as we're together. I still have my reservations at times, but you don't change anything from the sidelines. As Harry says, we'll save anyone we can. And I know we will. But it feels right. Everything feels right where it should be._

 _I look again into those green eyes and I feel it. I feel right where I should be._

The End

Lyrics credit: I can't make you love me by Bonnie Raitt, No Ordinary Thing by Opshop and Songbird performed by Eva Cassidy.

Thanks again for reading and reviewing xxx


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